


The Last Feast

by jenoftarth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Banter, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Matchmaking, Smut, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-04-24 03:04:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14346669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenoftarth/pseuds/jenoftarth
Summary: Much to everyone's surprise, Bran, The Three-Eyed Raven, interrupts battle preparations to command a last feast at Winterfell. Three couples will be challenged to let go of their biggest fears and give in to love, before the Army of the Dead threatens everything they hold dear.Post season 7 show canon-compliant speculation with some book-only backstory or characters added in. Not every couple appears in every chapter. Jon/Dany is a more minor ship, though with some POV.This work will cover at least the night of the feast and the day after. It may lead to two sequels taking place during and after the war for the dawn. This is the first fic I'm sharing, so any feedback is appreciated. New chapters about every 3 days!





	1. We Need A Feast

As strange as his pronouncements had become, everyone thought it was extra strange when Bran, The Three-Eyed Raven, had suddenly insisted that they must hold a celebration feast at Winterfell despite the news that white walkers would be upon them within the week. No one was exactly in the mood for a party, but Bran insisted that without this feast the war for the living would not be won. So Jon and Daenerys agreed it would be done immediately and left Sansa in charge of making the arrangements.  
  
Even with two days’ notice, Sansa was able to pull things together nicely. She instructed the cooks to use as much food as they liked. She filled the great hall with as many chairs as she could and cleared out adjacent rooms to make room for more tables. She assigned duties to nearly everyone - cleaning, serving, gathering wood, playing music, but also made sure every servant would have a chance to feast. And she made sure that everyone knew that the feast was mandatory, even the newly arrived Sandor Clegane. Maybe especially Sandor Clegane.  
  
Word spread quickly, and the nobles and smallfolk alike started referring to it as “The Last Feast.” The name sounded about right to Jaime Lannister. He didn’t like their odds, despite being surrounded by most of the best fighters in Westeros - The Hound, Jon Snow, Jorah Mormont, and, of course, Brienne. What a waste, he thought. The talent and bravery he was surrounded by humbled him. Brienne alone was reason enough to wish the world could continue forever. There was so much unsaid between them. When he ran into her on the road to Winterfell he had realized at long last why he had felt so dissatisfied in the years since returning to King’s Landing. It hadn’t been that King’s Landing and Cersei had changed, though they had. It had been that he had changed. He’d fallen in love with Brienne. And now the dead were coming for everyone, and maybe all he’d be able to do was die by her side.  
  
On the day of the feast Winterfell buzzed with excitement. Tyrion thought the feast was a genius idea. No one knew better than he did how people needed a little enjoyment in their lives - a bit of drink, some good food and company in bed. He himself would be indulging in the first two; but sadly he had no candidates for third. He would just have to use his single state to egg on his brother, with a little help from Bronn and Podrick. Jaime had arrived from King’s Landing with Tyrion’s two best friends in tow, and despite the high stakes of the current moment all Bronn could do was gossip like a lady’s maid about the tension between his brother and the Maid of Tarth. Tyrion had taken an immediate liking to Brienne, recognizing a kindred spirit. He knew the guarded look in her eyes too well; it was a reflection of his own guardedness. He knew how it felt to doubt that anyone could love you for yourself, and how much it could hurt to put your trust in the wrong person. He just hoped she’d be able to let down her guard long enough for Jaime who was clearly besotted with her.  
  
“Speak of the devil,” said Tyrion, as Jaime came into view. “Or rather, think of the devil, since I wasn’t speaking to anyone.”  
  
“What in all the seven hells are you talking about little brother?” Jaime said, with an uncertain grin.  
  
“I was just thinking about what your plans might be for the little feast tonight, ‘The Last Feast’ as they’re calling it. It seems like you might have some unfinished business”  
  
A look of self-consciousness passed over Jaime’s face, and he rubbed the pommel of his sword.  
  
“Ah, so you do have a plan. Good. What are you going to say to her?” Tyrion said, taking his brother’s arm in his own and leading him through the halls.  
  
“To who?”  
  
“To the Lady Brienne of course.”  
  
Jaime actually blushed, then lowered his voice. “I don’t know. I’m going to sit by her.”  
  
“Sit by her, well that’s a good start, but you sit by her every day. What else?”  
  
“Well, I might ask her to dance.”  
  
“Hmmm… a promising idea, for any other lady, but someone like Lady Brienne might be as likely to say ‘no.’ I hardly think she likes being the center of attention.”  
  
“Then, what? What should I do, Tyrion? I have no experience in these matters, you know. I was always with”  
  
“Cersei, yes. And even if you hadn’t been most women have always just thrown themselves at you. But not Brienne. And if you throw yourself at her in the wrong way she’s likely to throw you back. But if you approach her just right, she’ll melt in your hands. She loves you.”  
  
“Do you really think so?” Jaime said, “I mean, half the people around here mutter ‘sisterfucker’ under their breath when I walk by. I’m not quite the catch up here that I was in the South.”  
  
“Jaime, everyone who matters is sure she’s in love with you. Pod thinks so, Lady Sansa thinks so. Bronn won’t shut up about it. Even the bloody Hound has commented on it and he’s not exactly a moony romantic. All this situation needs is the right touch.”  
  
“So what do I do?”  
  
“Well, first, sit by her but don’t sit with Podrick or Bronn or me. Sit with strangers so you’lll need to talk to each other and so Bronn won’t spend the whole time making her feel self-conscious. Then, get her to drink some wine.”  
  
Jaime started to protest.  
  
“Don’t get her drunk, just get her to drink any wine at all. That woman is far too sober for her own good. She’ll object and say she needs to guard Lady Sansa. That’s been taken care of already. Bronn and I have been busy. It seems there’s another couple that needs some help getting going - the Hound and my former wife. Clegane has apparently been in love with her since she was Joffrey’s betrothed and Lady Arya seems to think it’s mutual.”  
  
“When are all of you doing all this gossiping? Are Brienne and I the only ones actually preparing for the Army of the Dead?”  
  
“There are more ways to prepare for the Army of the Dead than training, Jaime. When men fight they need something to fight for. Has it occurred to you that this feast may be needed for that very reason? We have here in Winterfell people from different countries, different factions, different houses, with so few connections between them. The more we bring people together, the better a chance we succeed on the battlefield.”  
  
“Or we could all be hungover with our pants down.”  
  
“I suppose, I suppose. But wouldn’t you like to get your pants down once more before it’s all done? I know I would. Pity is that the only women I’m interested in around here are already spoken for.”  
  
“Women?”  
  
“At first I was interested in Missandei. That woman has a talented tongue.”  
  
Jaime grimaced.  
  
“She speaks over a dozen languages, Jaime. That’s all I meant. She’s brilliant and beautiful and somehow in love with a eunuch. If eunuchs can find love, maybe there’s hope for a dwarf yet. The other woman, well, she was always going to be too much to hope for.”  
  
“Daenerys,” Jaime said. “I don’t see the appeal myself, but I suppose you’ve never seen your men roasted by her dragons on the battlefield. She’d be better off with you, though. As a sisterfucker, I know that incest doesn’t always work out so well.”  
  
Tyrion twisted his head around nervously. “Let’s keep that truth quiet for now, Jaime. Remember it’s privileged information. I shouldn’t even have told you.”  
  
“But why?” Jaime said. “No one with a decent claim to the throne has ruled in King’s Landing for years. Robert may have won the throne, but he was also, technically a usurper. And while Daenerys has something of Aerys about her, no one can say that of Jon, Aegon, whatever you want to call him. He’s obviously the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.”  
  
“Jaime, I thought you had lived in King’s Landing for most of your life. The Game of Thrones has very little to do with who has the right, you should know that by now. If and when Jon wants to make this secret known he will, but unless and until he does, it’s just too volatile. Even I don’t know what Daenerys would do if the truth was suddenly revealed.”  
  
“”Fine, I suppose I can leave politics to the other Lannisters while I save the seven kingdoms with my valyrian steel sword.”  
  
“Believe me, I envy you your steel. When all this is over I may go back into designing sewer systems. Anyway back to the much more pressing matter of you bedding your new lady.”  
  
“Bedding?”  
  
“Yes, Jaime, you you need to get her into bed. Think of this as your last night on earth. You can marry her later. With my blessing. And since we’re the only Lannisters left who matter, my blessing is the only one you need. So, get her alone, give her some wine, then touch her casually. Pour her drinks and touch her hand as you serve them. Lean in close to her as you point out something amusing happening in the hall. Brush stray hairs out of her face. Whatever you need to do to touch her, do that. Finally, ask if you can speak to her in private. If she asks why, tell her it has to do with training. It doesn’t. Don’t you dare talk to her about training when you get her alone. When you get her alone, well, I can’t script that part. But you know what’s in your heart, Jaime. Take her hand, look her in the eyes, and tell her everything you’ve felt for her. Ask her to marry you. Kiss her, for fuck’s sake. And then, well, if the tension between the two of you is anything like what Bronn has described, I’m sure that kiss will send you right to the nearest bed.”  
  
“You make it sound easy, but I keep imagining her punching me,” Jaime said.  
  
“Well, if she punches you, she’ll probably immediately feel sorry about it, lean over you with concern, and then if you’re lucky she’ll kiss you and you’ll end up in bed anyway. Really, Jaime, she is in love with you. This is isn’t a hopeless cause. You just need to connect.”  
  
“I hope you’re right,” Jaime said. “And what will you do tonight?”  
  
“Drink,” Tyrion said. “And watch the show.”


	2. Setting the Table

Sandor Clegane couldn’t believe what Bronn and Tyrion were telling him. “Do you mean to tell me that I’ve been assigned to guard Sansa Stark tonight because Brienne of Fucking Tarth and Jaime Fucking Lannister need to go on a date, and also because I’m supposed to seduce Lady Sansa?”  
  
“Yeah, that’s about the size of it,” said Bronn. “Though I’ve got money on you not sealing the deal with the lady of Winterfell, so I won’t be too disappointed if only the Jaime and Brienne part works out.”  
  
“You’re all a bunch of mad cunts. I’m sure Lady Sansa would rather have one of those fancy Vale lords next to her at dinner, but I’ll guard her. If any of those white walkers stumbles in she’ll be better off with an ugly fucker like me next to her.”  
  
“Good,” Tyrion said. “Then it’s all settled. Now Sandor, don’t pretend that this isn’t also what you want. You’re clearly in love with my former wife, and you’re welcome to her. She does seem to fancy you. I wish you good luck. Someone ought to have some love and light before the dead arrive.”  
  
“Love and light weren’t meant for the likes of me,” Sandor muttered.  
  
“Well, we’ll let Lady Sansa decide that, shall we? She may have other plans.”  
  
Sandor raised an eyebrow as Bronn and Tyrion walked off. Tyrion seemed to know something, and that made Sandor uneasy. He prided himself on keeping to himself and keeping his private thoughts private. How they had figured out his soft spot for Sansa, he wasn’t sure. But he’d have to be on his guard. If she ever found out that he cared for her, well, she might send him away. He was a good dog, but why would a lady like Sansa invite her pet hound into her bed?

  


“Arya!” Gendry was in the forge when he glimpsed Arya passing by.  
  
She doubled back to join Gendry and smiled at him. A true smile. She had smiled in the last few years, but most of her smiles had been dark smiles of vengeance. Only recently she had found reasons to smile with joy again. The day she had found Gendry again had been almost as happy as her reunions with Bran, Sansa and Jon. Then The Hound had come through the door too. It seemed unbelievable that the world which had taken so many of her family and friends had still somehow gathered those dearest to her in Winterfell, even if it was only for a last stand, even if tonight might really be the last feast.  
  
“Sit with me a second Arya?” Gendry asked as she walked closer. He was reworking Valyrian steel. They had been collecting old, battered Valyrian steel from wherever they could grab it and reforging or re-assigning the swords to the best warriors in the group. Gendry was also helping to create dragonglass daggers, strong shields, and dragonglass arrows. He was truly in his element. When he wasn’t working in the forge, he was training with his hammer.  
  
“Yes, Gendry,” Arya said. “What do you want to talk about?”  
  
“Will you sit next to me at the feast tonight?”  
  
“Is that all?” Arya laughed. “Don’t we always sit together? I mean, when I’m not on guard duty.”  
  
“Well, are you going to be on guard duty?”  
  
“No, I’m not. The Hound will be guarding Sansa and Jon will be with Bran. So I’ll be free.”  
  
“Good,” Gendry said. “You know, they are calling this the last feast. It might be the last time we’ll sit next to each other.”  
  
“Not bloody likely,” Arya said. “But I’ll sit next to you all the same.”  
  
“Arya - “ Gendry said.  
  
“Yes?” she asked cocking one eyebrow.  
  
“It’s nothing.” Gendry said.  
  
“You lie. It’s something,” she said. “But that’s okay. If you have something to say, you can tell me at the feast. For now I’m off to train with Lyanna Mormont. She’s fierce, but she needs a lot of work on her form.”  
  
Arya sauntered off down the hall and Gendry felt an ache in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to run after her, grab her and kiss her, but he had the feeling that last feast or not, it would take some extreme finesse to convince Arya Stark to become his wife.

  


Brienne was nervous at first about leaving Lady Sansa to be guarded by Sandor Clegane. She knew he was capable, and she saw how loyal he was to Sansa and Arya. It had simply become a habit, however, to guard the Stark children. And maybe, just maybe, it had become a way to avoid dwelling too much on her other loyalty, to a pair of green eyes and a smile that warmed her all the way through. It was madness to think of him that way, though. If she slipped and let Jaime see her affection, surely he would turn away. She couldn’t bear that.  
  
But now it seemed, Brienne was not only being asked to take a night off from guarding Lady Sansa or Lord Bran, she was also being specifically asked to spend the evening with Jaime Lannister. Sansa had asked Brienne to her chambers only to make that request. “But why, Lady Sansa?”  
  
“Well, wouldn’t you like to spend the evening with Jaime?” Sansa asked.  
  
“Well, I suppose, yes, but why do you ask me to do this?”  
  
“Jaime is one of our most valued allies and soldiers. But he seems to be in low spirits. I’d like you to cheer him up,” Sansa said with a playful smile.  
  
“I’m sure there are more suitable women for that job. I mean, what man wants to spend their last feast with someone like me?” Brienne said.  
  
“Oh, I think you are the only person Jaime would want to spend his last night with, Brienne.” Sansa smiled.  
  
Brienne stared down at her with wide eyes, disbelieving and blushed. Sansa reached up to touch Brienne’s broad shoulder.  
  
“I don’t mean to embarrass you Lady Brienne, it’s just that, well, everyone notices it. Jaime Lannister is in love with you.”  
  
“What?” Brienne gulped.  
  
“Well, I don’t know for sure. But you should know that Lord Tyrion, Ser Bronn and Podrick all think so. And if they don’t know Ser Jaime I’m not sure who does.”  
  
“It can’t possibly be true,” Brienne said, her heart beating quicker.  
  
“Well, we’ll find out, won’t we? Now, I didn’t have time to have anything truly new made for you. But... “ Sansa pulled out a large gown of cerulean blue. “I did have something made for you when you first came into my service, just in case an occasion like this should arise.”  
  
Brienne’s eyes became even larger, as she looked at the gown. Though she generally hated dresses, this was undoubtedly the perfect color, had been designed to be flatteringly fitted but modest, and the full, light skirts were not unwieldy for either sitting or fighting. She would be able to move in this gown. And since it was clear that Sansa truly wished for her to wear it, she accepted it with grace.  
  
“Thank you, Lady Sansa. I appreciate your thoughtfulness. But are you sure that you will be comfortable with Ser Clegane guarding you tonight?”  
  
“He’s not a knight, Brienne, but yes, I want him by my side for this last feast. In truth, there is no one I would rather have by my side. You see, I have some dreams of love too. I hope you will enjoy yourself tonight, Lady Brienne. I hope you will allow yourself to dream a little.”  
  
Brienne hugged the gown close to her chest as she left Lady Sansa’s chamber to walk down the hall to her own. Deep inside she felt much like she had as that hopeful girl of 12, waiting for her betrothed, before she had been hurt by a rose, before she had been mocked and fooled. Could it possibly be that she would have another chance to be the maiden she still was?


	3. For the Living

The Great Hall of Winterfell was full to bursting as Tyrion, Podrick and Bronn took their seats on the right side of the hall. Tyrion was taking the night off from being Hand of the Queen. Tonight he would drink, feast, and pretend winter hadn’t already come. If he squinted he could almost imagine it was a different welcome feast, a lifetime ago, when he had first met Jon Snow and the other Starks. They were all a little worse for wear, but then again those lessons had formed Sansa Stark into a leader, Jon Snow into a King, and Bran Stark into, well, whatever he was. Jon and Daenerys might rule the seven kingdoms, but Bran’s new knowledge gave him the world in a way Tyrion knew none of them would ever understand.  
  
Bran sat at the head of the feast. To his right were his brother Jon and Queen Daenerys, and to his left sat his sister Sansa and Sandor Clegane. Arya and Gendry were sitting at the back of the hall, at a raucous table full of wildlings, while Jaime and Brienne were seated with several lords of the Vale near the dais. All the nobles and many smallfolk and soldiers were gathered in the hall, with more feasters filling the other rooms of Winterfell and the Winter Town beyond. The Last Feast was ready to begin, but The Three-Eyed Raven knew that the people of Westeros needed a few words of encouragement to open the proceedings.  
  
“Friends,” Bran said, “we are here tonight to celebrate life and to celebrate the living. Though we are not marking a marriage or a birth or a coronation, we are also marking all of those things. The decisions that you make in this hall tonight will lead to marriages, births and coronations, or they will lead to despair, cold winds and death.” The whole hall sat silent in rapt attention. Bran had rarely spoken more than two sentences together since becoming the Three-Eyed Raven, but suddenly he sounded not like the Raven or even like Bran, but very much like Eddard Stark. Jon and Sansa both felt tears forming in their eyes to hear their brother, even momentarily, sounding so human again.  
  
Bran continued. “Many of you in this hall have been held back for too long from living. You have been held back by fear. This fear may seem like a little thing to you, compared to the courage you have shown in battles great and small. But if you give into this fear it will kill you as surely as running from the enemy on the field, and it may lead to the end for us all. Tonight, friends, I ask you for one thing. I ask you for your courage not just to fight and die, but for your courage to live. I have heard that people are calling this ‘the last feast.’ It does not need to be the last feast, but if it helps you to see it that way, then do. Imagine that this is your last feast, your last chance, and whatever secrets you have hidden in your hearts, tonight have the courage to reveal them. Tonight we feast for the living.”  
  
The hall remained silent as Bran ended his speech and seemed to subside into a trance again. Jon Snow wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulder, then raised his goblet in a toast to break the silence. “For the living!” he shouted. Then the whole hall erupted with the words, “For the living!” 

  


As the shouts died down and turned into a general buzz, Jaime met Brienne’s gaze over their goblets, and suddenly felt that he might swoon away like he had in the baths in Harrenhal. She was spectacular. His first instinct upon seeing her in a dress had been to tease her about it, but fortunately he had stopped himself. There was nothing funny about the gown or about the effect it was having on his composure. Unlike the ridiculous ill-fitting pink thing they had forced her to wear in Harrenhal, this gown had been made for the Maid of Tarth of the Sapphire Isle. It accentuated her long neck, her tapered waist and of course her ridiculously blue eyes. He’d seen that thrice-damned bearded wildling goggling at her before they sat down, and he could swear a few of the Vale lords at their table had also been looking at his lady with new interest. As for Jaime, he felt that he wanted to drink her, eat her, devour her as he looked at her across the table. He was beginning to hope that what he saw in her eyes was a similar need. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes transfixed. Jaime reached his right hand out without thinking and his right stump landed awkwardly on Brienne’s hand. “To the living,” he said.  
  
Brienne almost flinched away at Jaime’s touch, but she thanked the gods that she hadn’t. She knew that Jaime was sensitive about his stump and wouldn’t realize she was only flinching because of the thrill it gave her to feel his skin on hers, a thrill she didn’t want to betray. “To the living,” she said in a quavery voice, and to mask her nervousness, she moved her hand to his upper arm in what she hoped would seem like a gesture of friendship, rather than anything too forward. Instead she succeeded in feeling his bicep.  
  
“Yes, I’ve been training hard,” Jaime said with a grin. “A certain warrior maiden has been keeping me quite busy in the yard. You haven’t seen her anywhere, have you, my lady? I thought you were she, but she never wears a dress or takes a drink of anything.”  
  
“Lady Sansa made me wear this,” Brienne said, looking down and removing her hand from his arm. Damn it, Jaime thought, he’d teased her about the dress after all. There was no time to waste making his real feelings clear. Jaime reached out and gently tipped Brienne’s chin up to look her in the eyes again.  
  
“I’m glad she gave you the dress, Brienne. You look absolutely gorgeous.”  
  
Brienne’s eyes widened in wonder. What was this, she thought. Could Sansa be right? Was it possible that Jaime Lannister actually was in love with her? She would have to limit her drink and keep her wits about her because if he kept on talking like this it would be difficult not to slip and say too much. Then she remembered Bran’s speech. Be brave, she thought. It was no longer the time for keeping secrets. She took another drink.  
  
“Thank you, Ser Jaime,” she said, and attempted a small smile.  
  
“Jaime,” he said, taking Brienne’s hand. “Tonight, Brienne, please just call me Jaime. Tonight we are just Jaime and Brienne, with no one to guard, no houses to represent, no past, no cares. Bran has seen that the white walkers won’t be here for another few days at least, so let’s enjoy this last respite. Let’s try to be as we were before anything bad happened, when we were just Jaime and Brienne.  
  
“When I was a child on Tarth and I believed in the songs,” Brienne said sipping her wine.  
  
“When I wanted to be Arthur Dayne and my sister was just my sister,” Jaime said, letting go of Brienne’s hand long enough to take his own sip.  
  
“When no one had ever mocked me about my looks,” Brienne said.  
  
“When we sat in the baths at Harrenhal,” Jaime said, his smile widening.  
  
“But Jaime - so many bad things had happened by then!” Brienne protested, her voice becoming slightly higher, as she blushed at the memory.  
  
“But that’s the day you stopped looking at me as if I were a monster. That’s the day we became friends.”  
  
“It’s true,” Brienne said. “Although the day you rescued me from the bear helped.”  
  
“Yes, that was very dashing of me wasn’t it?” Jaime said. With that he put down his goblet and refilled Brienne’s. Handing it to her, he made sure to touch her hand again. Brienne blushed, and pulled her hand away, but took a drink. They stared quietly at each other over their drinks, both oblivious to the noise and talk all around them.  
  
“What was the best day of your life?” Brienne asked.  
  
“Today,” Jaime said.  
  
“Today?” Brienne asked.  
  
Jaime once more took Brienne’s hand in his, this time twining his fingers with hers. “Today I have my honor, I’m preparing to fight in the only war that’s ever mattered, I’m surrounded by good company, and next to me is sitting the best, truest, and most beautiful woman in all of the seven kingdoms, Brienne of Tarth. Yes, today is the best day.”  
  
“Jaime - “ Brienne started, but she barely had a voice, let alone coherent thoughts to form into words.  
  
“Yes, Brienne?”  
  
She tried to speak, but her mouth merely moved, soundless. I must look like a fish, she thought. Jaime, meanwhile, could not believe his luck. Somehow he had already accomplished the night’s hardest task. He had admitted to Brienne how important she was to him, and her hand was still in his. He really felt as if he might get a kiss, but not in the crowded hall.  
  
“Brienne,” Jaime said, “I know we haven’t eaten anything yet, but would you perhaps like to take a walk with me? There are things I would like to discuss with you.”  
  
Brienne’s heart was racing as Jaime pulled her up from the bench. They were the only two people standing up in the whole hall, wouldn’t people notice if they left together? What did it matter, though? This was the last feast, and in a few days she might be dying on a battlefield. She would certainly be fighting. What was a little embarrassment? Following behind Jaime, her hand still in his, Brienne’s heart felt lighter than it had in years.

  


Bronn had two fingers raised, readying a loud whistle to herald Jaime’s victory, when Tyrion’s hand suddenly clamped down on his mouth before he could make a sound. “Not now, Bronn,” Tyrion said. “I can’t believe my brother has already got her to leave the table; she hardly even put up a fight. Let’s not spoil it. Anyway, didn’t you have a bet on this? Why would you want to threaten your own victory?”  
  
“Oh, no one actually made a bet. I was just trying to rile up Clegane. Jaime would kill me if I made any bet about Brienne’s virtue. Apparently some Stormlands cunts tried that already.”  
  
“Well with Jaime sorted out, now we can watch our other pair and see how they’re doing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realize that the Three-Eyed Raven may seem a bit out of character, but in a way I think that's more a function of how he's written on the show than how it seemed in the books. My main inspiration for this character is any type of person who undergoes a spiritual transformation where they become somewhat different than people around them without as many usual human desires. Rather than working to fulfill their own goals, they channel the will of the gods or the universe. In this chapter I envision the Three-Eyed Raven just being a channel for the message that the people in Winterfell need to hear. 
> 
> I'd also like to note that this chapter has basically no Arya or Sansa, but that all changes in Chapter 4, which is all about their relationships, so wait for it! 
> 
> Thank you for your kind and helpful comments!


	4. The Stark Sisters

Sansa and Sandor were much more visible to prying eyes up at the high table, and a more dissimilar pairing was hard to imagine. Where Jaime and Brienne had almost mirrored each other with gentle touches and looks of earnest wonder, Sandor Clegane was grimacing uncomfortably under one of Sansa Stark’s brightest smiles.  
  
“Look at that, Pod,” said Tyrion. “If I had even once made Sansa Stark smile like that I would have been able to make her my wife in truth, but Sandor Clegane won’t even crack a smile. Oh to be a brutal giant rather than a charming dwarf. The world would be mine.”  
  
“I loved her once,” Podrick said sadly.  
  
“You did?” Tyrion asked, with surprise.  
  
“Yes, my Lord, but I couldn’t do anything about it. She was Joffrey’s betrothed and then your wife, and now everybody says she loves Sandor Clegane, so what’s the use?”  
  
“Pod, if you truly love Lady Sansa, then I encourage you to at least try to approach her. Though I do believe she loves Clegane and he loves her, in spite of what it may look like at the moment, it is better to try and fail than not to try at all.That way when you die, you can die knowing you did your very best. Soon enough there will be dancing. Ask Lady Sansa for a dance. She’ll say yes, I’m sure.”  
  
Pod nodded and took a sip of his wine. He would need courage to approach the Lady of Winterfell.

At the high table, the smile on Sansa’s face was beginning to fade. At first she had felt only delight at finally sitting next to Sandor, for once able to talk freely, unconstrained by any betrothal or marriage. Sitting next to Sandor she felt the way she had imagined as a girl she would feel by her lord husband’s side. She felt protected, proud and regal. She knew that he would defend her from all her enemies. Though Sansa felt a great deal of satisfaction as Lady of Winterfell, surrounded by her people of the north, now that Sandor was back her dreams of a shared life, of a marriage, had also returned. He was a strong, powerful yet oddly gentle man, and she wanted to know what it was like to lie in his arms at night, to twine her body around his. She wanted Sandor to erase all the harms that had been done to her body by burning new memories into her flesh. The problem was, she didn’t think she could just come out and say that, nor did the traditional manner of maidenly flirtation seem to be of any use.  
  
After Bran had finished his speech and the hall had come alive with talk and drink, she had looked up at Sandor with her most radiant smile and complimented him on how dashing he looked.  
  
“Dashing? Dashing is for fools and they’re all dead,” Sandor said.  
  
“As you say, my lord; you’re no fool. But you look well, and I’m glad you’re here with me.”  
  
“Someone needs to protect you while your lady goes off to bed the Kingslayer.”  
  
“Ser!” Sansa said, more hurt by his gruffness than shocked by his bluntness.  
  
“I’m no Ser. I’m not a knight. Remember that. I’m just your dog,” he said.  
  
“You’re not my dog, Sandor. You’re free. You don’t have to protect me tonight if you don’t want to. I’ll ask one of the knights of the Vale to sit with me if you prefer.” And here Sansa’s smile began to fade. She nervously regarded the other knights who she could be forced to spend the evening with if Sandor took her up on this offer. Maybe he didn’t want to sit with her at the high table. Maybe he wanted to do whatever it was he had been doing all the other nights when she had barely glimpsed him at dinner. She wondered sometimes if he went to the winter town to find a whore, or maybe he just sat alone in his chambers. She had rarely seen him in the hall, unless he was talking with Arya or a group of wildlings.  
  
“I’ll protect you,” Sandor said, “Just don’t call me a knight and don’t call me dashing. Don’t call me something I’m not. I thought you were smarter now, little bird. I thought you had learned what men are capable of.”  
  
A wave of ice washed over Sansa at being forced to remember the other man who had sat beside her in this hall, and she lost all restraint.  
  
“I have, Sandor. Men have tried to break me. Cruel men. They have battered my body and tried to take my dignity. You think you’re cruel, but you’re not. I had a husband. No one ordered him to hurt me; there was no reason to hurt me; but he hurt me all the same, because he liked it. Do you know who I wished for all the nights he was hurting me? I wished for you. I knew that if you had been there you would have broken him and carried me away. But if you insist on pretending you're cruel, if you want to keep pretending you're a danger to me, I guess I can’t stop you.”  
  
Sandor’s face took on a look of sorrow and surprise. She was right, of course. She carried herself like a lady unbroken, but it wasn’t because she hadn’t known pain; she was just stronger than he was. A little bird made of steel.  
  
Silence hung in the air between Sandor and Sansa, made heavier by the pipers who had just started to play a lively tune while couples formed up to dance in front of the high table. Sansa and Sandor were staring into each other’s eyes in something of a standoff. Sansa refusing to give more of herself after laying herself bare. Sandor experiencing the strange sensation of wanting to apologize, his sharp tongue suddenly heavy. Sandor was finally about to break the silence, when Podrick Payne appeared over Sansa’s shoulder, all smiles and nerves.  
  
“Lady Sansa,” he asked. “I was wondering if I might have the pleasure of a dance.”  
  
Sansa turned back to Sandor, raised an eyebrow, and said, “Sandor, please keep a good guard while we dance. Remember, you’re still assigned to protect me.” Then she rose and took Podrick’s hand without a backward glance.

In the back of the hall Arya was laughing up a storm. She had drank three ales already, but she had learned many tricks among the Faceless Men. One trick was how to get drunk but just as suddenly sober up, solely through the power of her own mind. For now, though, she was quite enjoying being drunk, and Gendry seemed to be enjoying it too. He was drunker off his two ales than Arya was off her three, despite his greater height and, well, size. Arya couldn’t help but keep admiring the size of him by feeling his upper arm through his shirt, remembering all the while the many times she’d seen him shirtless. Gendry had started responding to her touch by tickling her at the waist and the back of her neck.  
  
“Look, Gendry,” Arya said, “there goes Brienne with Jaime Lannister. Everyone said they were in love. I thought it was a joke, but I guess it’s true. I wonder what she sees in him?”  
  
“He’s supposed to be one of the handsomest men in the Seven Kingdoms,” Gendry said.  
  
“Not my type,” Arya said.  
  
“Oh yeah,” said Gendry, “what is your type then?”  
  
“No one,” Arya said.  
  
“Liar,” Gendry said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have been able to say he wasn’t your type.”  
  
“You’d do well at the Game of Faces,” Arya said.  
  
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”  
  
“To play the Game of Faces, you tell me things. Sometimes you tell the truth, sometimes you lie. You try to make the lies sound like the truth. If you fool me, you win. If you don’t, you lose. Try it.”  
  
“I’m scared about the dead coming to Winterfell,” Gendry said.  
  
“True,” Arya said. Gendry nodded. “Why are you scared?” she asked.  
  
“Because I don’t want to die.”  
  
“You’re lying,” Arya said. “You don’t want to die, but that’s not why you’re really scared. Why are you scared?”  
  
“There’s something I haven’t done yet.”  
  
“True.” Arya said. “What is it you haven’t done yet?”  
  
“I want to become a great knight.”  
  
Arya hesitated. “That’s a lie. It seems like it could be true, but it’s not what you really want, is it?”  
  
“No, it’s not what I really want. Let me ask you a question. Are you scared of the dead coming to Winterfell?”  
  
“No,” Arya said.  
  
“Now _you’re_ lying,” he said. “You _are_.” Gendry grasped Arya’s hands in both of his. Her hands were sweaty, and as he moved his fingers up to her wrists he felt a quick pulse there.  
  
“I’m not scared,” Arya said, but her voice faltered. She knew it was a lie now, too, though she hadn’t known she’d been scared until just this moment. Arya thought that she was done with all that. _Valar Morghulis_ , after all. But maybe at the moment she felt more like Syrio Forel: _What do we say to the God of Death? Not today._  
  
“What is it you want then?” Arya asked Gendry, feebly trying to move her wrists out of his grip, only to realize she’d rather grip him back.  
  
“I want to kiss Arya Stark,” Gendry said, looking deep into Arya’s eyes.  
  
“True.” Arya said. Suddenly the world went still, and Arya allowed her mind to quiet, as Gendry moved one hand up to her face and his other arm around her waist. His face was so close, his brown eyes suddenly so fascinating. When she finally closed her eyes and felt Gendry’s lips touch hers she felt a hot rush, similar to the adrenaline of killing an enemy, but much purer and more pleasurable. Her mouth turned up into a smile under his lips, and she opened her mouth to let him deepen their kiss. Cheers had erupted around them on the bench, and she felt a wildling clap her on the back, but for once Arya shut down all her guards, ignored her surroundings, and let Gendry envelop her. She supposed she could intimidate anyone later who felt like making japes about this. All in all this was the most satisfying conclusion to the Game of Faces she had ever known.

“Oh my goodness, look,” Sansa Stark gestured over to the back of the hall, where Podrick Payne saw the unlikely sight of Gendry from the forge kissing Arya Stark. So there was a chance for young men of modest birth to win the heart of a Stark girl! Sansa laughed as Podrick whirled her around the dance floor.  
  
Lady Brienne had already left the hall with Ser Jaime, and now Gendry and Arya were apparently getting together. The mood of the night seemed to favor love. Podrick felt his spirits lift.  
  
“Lady Sansa, you look very beautiful tonight,” Podrick said.  
  
“Thank you, Podrick. You look very nice as well. And Lady Brienne seems to have taught you some dancing.”  
  
“Her and Lord Tyrion both. They thought it might be useful. I love dancing actually. Dancing and sword-fighting.”  
  
“I love dancing too, but sadly I don’t think Sandor cares for it very much.”  
  
“Well, I’m happy to dance with you. If he had danced with you I might not have had the chance. Isn’t it funny that we’ve known each other in King’s Landing and now at Winterfell but we’ve rarely spoken?”  
  
Sansa cocked her head curiously at Podrick. Could it be that Tyrion’s former squire was interested in her? If so, it was a pity. Though he was rather good-looking and closer to her age than Sandor, her heart seemed to be stubbornly taken. She would have to find a way to dissuade him without being cruel.  
  
“I hope you will dance with many of the young ladies here tonight, since you love dancing. I’m afraid that many of the men here are either too old or too wild to make good partners for the other noble girls. Do you see Alys Karstark over there? She’s very quiet, but she’s also intelligent and kind. I’m sure she would like a dance.”  
  
“If my lady would ask it of me,” Podrick said.  
  
“Am I your lady too, Podrick? I thought that was Lady Brienne,” Sansa said, with a laugh.  
  
“Well, Lady Brienne serves you, my lady, and I serve Lady Brienne, so I guess you’re also my lady. And,” Podrick said, a lump forming in his throat, “I don’t know how I could deny any request made by someone as brave and lovely as you.”  
  
Podrick could hardly believe how bold he was being. Sansa blushed, though, and smiled. He must be doing well.  
  
“Podrick, you are too kind. You’re going to make a very gallant knight one day. I know you will help win this battle and you will make some young lady very happy.” Sansa couldn’t help but look over to her empty seat at the high table as she spoke, but her mouth fell when she saw that Sandor had left the feast.  
  
Podrick was preparing some more words of affection for Sansa, when a large figure loomed over him and tapped him on the shoulder. The song was coming to an end, and a slower song was starting up. “I wonder if I might dance with the lady,” said Sandor Clegane.  
  
Sansa’s face lit up.  
  
“Yes, of course, Sandor,” Sansa said. “Thank you, Podrick. I hope you will continue to enjoy the dancing.” She inclined her head to the corner where Alys Karstark was sitting surrounded by her household knights.  
  
Podrick bowed to Sansa and walked off somewhat sadly, but what could he really do? He would dance with Alys Karstark. If he and Lady Sansa were meant to be, then maybe he could have another dance later on.

“Podrick fucking Payne?” Sandor asked when they were alone. “Are you going to marry Podrick fucking Payne?”  
  
“I hardly think one dance constitutes a marriage,” Sansa replied. “Anyway, he asked. I’m happy to dance with any gallant young man who offers me a dance.”  
  
“Even me,” Sandor said.  
  
“Especially you,” Sansa said, and with that she wrapped an arm around Sandor’s waist to pull him closer. She ended up bringing him closer than she even intended, so that her breasts mashed against his chest and her thighs brushed his legs.  
  
“What are you doing?” Sandor asked gruffly.  
  
“Dancing with you. This could be our last night, Sandor. How do you want to spend it?”  
  
With you under me, Sandor thought. With me inside of you. With you naked in my arms. “With you,” he said.  
  
“Good,” Sansa said and she sighed with relief. “That is, at last, the answer I was hoping for.” She smiled at Sandor and she held his gaze. Sandor Clegane felt his heart begin to beat out of control and his limbs went somewhat lax. This couldn’t possibly be what he hoped it was, could it? Could Sansa Stark actually be trying to seduce him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is going to start getting s-m-u-t-t-y, but for that reason there may be a several days' delay in releasing it because I want to get the smut just right. Thank you for your continued lovely comments. I'm having a really good time writing this, and I already have two modern AUs on deck for when this story is done.


	5. First Course

CH 5: First Course

“Well, he tried,” Tyrion said, as he and Bronn watched Podrick leaving Sansa’s side, replaced by Sandor Clegane.  
  
“If only she knew about his magic cock,” Bronn said, recalling Podrick’s trip to the brothels. “Might change her mind a bit.”  
  
“I’m not sure if telling a high-born lady about your time with the whores is the best strategy to win her heart,” Tyrion said.  
  
“I suppose not. Might be surprised, though. Lollys always found my brothel stories very amusing.”  
  
“Sounds like you were admirably suited for each other. Pity your betrothal didn’t work out in the end. Just think, if you had known it was all for nothing, you could have bested The Mountain. You never would have made Oberyn Martell's mistake. They would have sung about you for hundreds of years.”  
  
“Aye, but then how'd we have ended up here in Winterfell, about to die fighting some dead men? Much better off really.”  
  
“It’s a strange thing, but somehow there’s nowhere I’d rather be,” said Tyrion, looking around the room. Sansa had finally coaxed the shadow of a smile out of Clegane. Podrick was leading Alys Karstark to the dance floor, Missandei and Greyworm were rising to join them, Missandei taking the lead as always. Daenerys and Jon Snow were laughing at the high table. The Wildlings were encouraging Gendry Waters to kiss Arya Stark again. Tyrion wondered if he would ever live to love again, but if not, at least he could be in a place where love was more common than hate and deception. Bronn tracked his friend’s gaze.  
  
“Come on, now. Stop being such a sentimental bugger and eat some food. Like as not we’ll be leaving half of this behind in a week or so when we’re forced to abandon this pile of rocks.” With that, Bronn tucked into the first course, a soup of barley and venison.

  


 

Before Brienne realized where they were going, Jaime had led her back to her own chamber. She supposed it made sense. It was too cold to walk outside, and everywhere else in Winterfell was filled with loud revelry - even the library. Sam and Gilly had apparently retreated there for their own private conversation which had made Brienne blush and Jaime laugh.  
  
Brienne’s room was so big it embarrassed her a little. She knew that Jaime had been given quarters with the soldiers, just a small pile of straw really, but he hadn’t complained. Still, when they had first met he had been the rich lord and she more or less a hedge knight. The change in their situations made her hurt for him a little.  
  
Jaime still had the easy assurance of a rich lord, however. He took command of the situation, leading Brienne over to sit beside him on the bed. Though they had met each other on the road to Winterfell and traveled in the same group, Bronn or Podrick or Sandor had always been around. There had been no time for truly private conversations. Suddenly Brienne grew very conscious of their solitude. And with the feast raging on, no one would be coming to ask after either of them, not until the morning. Brienne trembled.  
  
“Are you cold, my lady?” Jaime asked. He hunted around for a blanket. Finding one he wrapped it around her shoulders. _Like a groom wrapping a cloak around his bride_ , Brienne thought. She trembled again.  
  
Brienne started to ask what Jaime wanted to discuss, but the look in his eyes stopped her. Brienne felt very afraid, though she couldn’t say why. Jaime kept staring at her, moving from her eyes, to her lips, to what she could swear was her chest. He started to smile, as if he liked what he saw. Then he took her hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss.  
  
“Jaime, what are you doing?” Brienne said, as her hand was lifted. His gentle kiss on her knuckles ignited a fire that ran through her whole body. No man had ever touched her hand with such tenderness, let alone kissed her. And this was _Jaime_.  
  
Jaime set her hand back down in her lap but placed his own over it.  
  
“Brienne. I need to say things to you that I should have said years ago, when you were still in King’s Landing. I should have said these things then, but I was a fool. I didn’t understand myself. When you left-”  
  
Jaime wanted to kick himself. Why was it so hard to spit out three simple words, or, alternatively, four simple words which would have the power to unite them for good.  
  
“Brienne, I know that I’m not worthy of you. I’m still a kingslayer in most people’s eyes, I loved my sister for years and we all know what she has become. I didn’t leave King’s Landing when I should have. I should have left with you and joined you on the quest to find the Stark girls. I can’t do anything to change the past. All I have to offer you is the man I am now.”  
  
Jaime paused. He had been in battles that had scared him less. The next few words were going to change everything between them, one way or another. “Brienne, I love you. Will you marry me?”  
  
Brienne felt as if the room were spinning around her. None of this made any sense. Even with all the hints she’d been given by Sansa and Bronn, she wasn’t prepared for this. She could only gape at Jaime at first. Finally, she recovered herself enough to speak. “Jaime, what are you saying? You love me? How?” Without meaning to, Brienne started to squirm away, out of blind instinct and habit, memories of Septa Roelle, Ronnet Connington and even Jaime’s own early insults echoing in her head.  
  
Jaime looked dismayed, but instead of letting her go, wrapped an arm around her shoulder, sending another shiver through Brienne, even as she flinched.  
  
“Brienne, I _love_ you. _How_? How could I not love the most honorable, gentlest woman I know, who also happens to be the most talented swordswoman in all of Westeros? I want to marry you. There are septons here. I would marry you in the sept or the godswood at dawn if you’ll have me.”  
  
“What about your sister?... The child?” Brienne asked.  
  
Jaime sighed. “If I am very lucky, I will meet that child one day. Maybe I'll even be able to convince Queen Daenerys to spare Cersei’s life and let her live out her days in a cell somewhere. But Cersei turned her back on me. She turned her back on the living. Olenna Tyrell called her a disease. I didn’t want to listen, because I remembered the girl she was, or the girl I thought she was. I did love her, Brienne. And I have a loyal heart, despite what people think. It took a long time for that loyalty to break, but it did. All my love for Cersei is gone. My heart has been yours for some time. I would give you my loyalty, too.”  
  
Brienne listened intently, her hopes slowly rising to heights she had never dreamed of.  
  
“And you would _marry_ me?” Brienne asked, barely daring to say the words out loud.  
  
“Yes, Brienne. Can you accept me as I am, with my past, with my child if someday it is ours to raise? If we live? I hope we live.” Jaime moved his hand up to her head and stroked her hair softly.  
  
“Jaime,” Brienne whispered. “Jaime.”  
  
“Are those all the words you have for me, wench?” Jaime said with a smile. “Very well, I can understand you wouldn’t want to say yes or no before sampling the wares, so I’ll give you a taste.” Jaime moved his hand down to Brienne’s cheek and leaned in to kiss her.  
  
At first there was nothing but shock. Brienne’s mouth was accustomed to being tight, guarded and grim. The sensation of Jaime’s lips on hers was so foreign she felt as if she were in a dream, though she had never imagined how good this would feel, even in the dreams where Jaime had kissed her. As the kiss continued, and Jaime’s mouth slowly moved on hers, she responded without thinking. And suddenly kissing Jaime seemed like the most natural sensation in the world, like gripping her sword in the heat of battle, like riding a horse through an open field. This is what lips were for, it turned out.  
  
Brienne leaned into Jaime’s kiss, then it deepened, his mouth coaxing hers to open, his tongue touching hers. Brienne was tentative for a moment, but only a moment. She responded with her own tongue, meeting Jaime, feeling out a rhythm. Jaime pulled her closer, and Brienne wrapped her arms around him. She let her hands feel his strong back, which she hadn’t touched since Harrenhal, when she’d washed and cared for him in his weakened state. _How many times she had wanted to touch him again since then._ She splayed her hands out as she touched him, wanting to feel as much of him as possible. Jaime meanwhile threw off the blanket he’d wrapped around her, and ran his hand slowly down her neck to her shoulder to her side, nearly touching her breast, but ending up at her waist which he grasped firmly, as he moved his mouth down to her neck. Brienne gasped and her eyes fell open. Suddenly, eyes open, without his mouth on hers, she felt alone again and scared.  
  
Jaime noticed her tension and moved his hand back to stroke her face. He kissed her lips gently again. “Brienne,” he said, “you still haven’t answered my questions. Do you love me? Will you marry me?” Brienne moved her hands from his back and returned them to her lap. The words she needed to say were difficult.  
  
“Jaime,” she said, swallowing down her fear, “I love you. Yes. I’ve loved you since almost the first moment I saw you.” She paused and looked up at him tentatively, remembering the days she’d spent with Jaime as her captive when his flirtatious words had cut her almost as much as his insults, because she had wished they were true.  
  
“But Jaime,” she said, “if we were to marry, and you were to be disappointed with me, I couldn’t bear it. You haven’t seen, you haven’t touched,” Brienne gestured vaguely at her body. Her body had saved her life and defended others, but it had also brought her shame.  
  
“Do you remember Harrenhal, Brienne?” Jaime said.  
  
Brienne blushed. Of course she remembered. _Half a corpse and half a god._ She dreamed of him it still. She remembered.  
  
“You didn’t disappoint me, wench,” he said, with a smile. “You excited me. At Harrenhal, my body knew I loved you before my brain knew.”  
  
“Oh,” Brienne said, wide-eyed.  
  
“I know what’s under this dress. I want what’s under this dress,” Jaime said. He ran his hand from her waist down to her skirts, finding the outline of her hip and then her thigh, caressing them slowly. Brienne stifled a moan and tried not to squirm with pleasure. Jaime took her hand again and looked her in the eye.  
  
“I am certain that you are the woman I want as my wife,” Jaime said, “If you need time to consider, I understand. But please never think I would be disappointed. I love you. I want you. Will you marry me, Brienne?”  
  
Brienne looked into Jaime’s eyes, so earnest. Miles away from the cynical, arrogant man she’d first known. He would not hurt her. He would not lie. There was only one answer.  
  
“Yes, Jaime,” Brienne breathed out. “Yes, I’ll marry you,” she said.  
  
Jaime laughed and pulled Brienne in for another kiss, while Brienne threw her arms back around him. After a few moments, Jaime scooped her legs up onto the bed, so she sat across his lap. The dainty women’s shoes Sansa had given her fell to the floor.  
  
Brienne felt somewhat awkward and overly large in Jaime’s lap, but those feelings were quickly displaced by want, as Jaime moved his hand back down to her thigh again, running his hand up and down, feeling and pressing her through the fabric of her dress. This time she let herself moan into his mouth, and as she squirmed, she noticed his hardness under her. She had been around enough soldier camps to know what it was. She blushed.  
  
“Can we really get married tomorrow?” Brienne asked.  
  
“Yes,” Brienne, “Jaime said. “I’d marry you right now if I could.”  
  
“Then let’s not go back to the feast. I couldn’t eat anything, yet. I need you to touch me.” Brienne began to unlace the top of her dress. Jaime looked on half in surprise, half in anticipation.  
  
“Are you sure, wench?” he asked.  
  
“I’m sure,” she said. “I’ve waited too long.”  
  
“I have too,” Jaime said. “We’ll be married tomorrow,” he said, kissing her cheek, her nose, her jaw. “But you’ll be mine tonight.”  
  
Jaime and Brienne began to take off each other’s clothes.

 

Arya and Gendry stopped kissing long enough to eat a hearty meal. There was no point in wasting all this good food. It was the best food Arya had tasted since she’d last seen Hot Pie. Gendry and Arya raised a toast to their absent friend as they dug into a delicious stew, followed by pigeon pie and mashed turnips. All the food suddenly seemed to have more flavor. Arya had lived so long on revenge that she had forgotten what it was like to live for simple pleasures. Gendry’s kiss had given her a taste of something she longed to explore more.  
  
But there was no need to rush it. Now that Arya knew Gendry had no interest in any of the tavern girls or kitchen maids or the other young noblewomen floating around Winterfell she could relax and enjoy his company. Previously she had always felt a little bit pinched and annoyed around Gendry. Now she realized what it had been - jealousy. She had always wanted him to look at her the way he had tonight and take her in his arms. She hadn’t realized it because she had spent so many years trying not to be a lady. Trying not to be weak. But maybe there wasn’t anything weak about being a lady. Lady Brienne didn’t appear to think so, judging by how long she’d been been missing from the great hall with Jaime Lannister.  
  
After eating a full meal and whirling around the dance floor a few times, Arya and Gendry ran out of the hall and kept running until they reached the forge, which was mercifully both empty and warm. Gendry had a bed in the corner. He had refused a better bed in the main house, preferring to be near his work. Arya flung herself back on his bed and took off her boots. She wasn’t sure exactly how this was done, but she was pretty sure the first step was taking off your clothes.  
  
“Arya,” Gendry said. “We don’t have to do that tonight. I mean, we’re not married.”  
  
“So,” Arya said. “We’re about to face the Army of the Dead. We don’t have time to plan a wedding. And you didn’t ask me anyway. You just said you wanted to kiss me. So come and kiss me.”  
  
“That’s not all that men and women do in bed together,” Gendry said, shaking his head and smiling.  
  
“No?” Arya said. “So why don’t you show me what else there is? I’m not afraid. I’ve killed men, but I’ve never touched anyone but you.”  
  
“I’ve touched a few women," Gendry said.  
  
Arya felt hot with jealousy. “Well, they’re not here, so I guess you’re stuck with me.” She made a sour face.  
  
Gendry wanted to laugh but instead sat down next to her and took his hand in hers. “Arya, if I thought when I was younger that a lady like you would be interested in someone like me, I never would have touched those other girls. Well, maybe Melisandre. She didn’t exactly give me much of a choice.”  
  
“Red bitch,” Arya spat.  
  
“That’s about right,” Gendry said, “Though she did bring your brother back to life.”  
  
“True,” Arya said. “But why would you think I wouldn’t want you? I wanted you to go with me so badly when you stayed with the Brotherhood. Didn’t you know how I felt?”  
  
“I thought you just wanted me to serve you. I thought I was just a lowborn from Flea bottom.”  
  
“And it wouldn’t matter to me if you still were. You’re the only boy… man… I’ve ever wanted to be with. I almost wish you weren’t Robert Baratheon’s son. He wasn’t very nice.”  
  
“I know,” Gendry said. “But he was strong once. And I’m strong.” Gendry rolled on top of Arya and pinned her arms behind her head, but Arya couldn’t resist twisting out of his grasp and rolling him underneath her before he could blink. She hovered over him and grinned in triumph.  
  
“How did you do that?” Gendry asked.  
  
“I’m not sure if I could even teach you. It takes a lot of practice, and it helps if you’re blind for a while,” Arya said.  
  
“We have a lot of talking to do someday,” said Gendry.  
  
“Someday,” Arya agreed, “For now, just teach me what women and men do, okay?”  
  
Gendry groaned and pulled Arya down on top of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being more fluff than smut. There will be more explicit smut in the fic's future. This was a hard chapter to write, mostly because now that I know people are reading, it's easy to second guess myself. I want this fic to be believable to a wide variety of fans, but I have to remind myself that there are a lot of different takes on who these characters are at their core. I'm doing my best to honor my interpretation, and I have to accept that it might not be everyone's interpretation.
> 
> My thanks again for your comments! It's always fun to hear about what you liked about it, though I don't mind constructive criticism either. I'll try to have the next chapter out in a few days, and it should introduce some content involving Jon and Dany, though, again, they're going to be the more minor pairing in this fic.


	6. Secret Ingredients

Sandor felt incredibly ill-suited to the role of courtly lord, dancing with a lady. He had been used to standing on the sidelines of life, doing the dirty work so that everyone else could have their fun undisturbed. But it was either join the dance, or let Sansa go to another partner, Podrick Payne again or Harrold Hardyng, a lord of the Vale who seemed to think he had some sort of claim to her. It wasn’t exactly torture, of course. The feel of her hand snaking around his back, the warm, yielding give of her waist under his hand. His other hand enclosed hers, an intimacy he had never hoped for, except perhaps on one faraway night, in the dark isolation of the Red Keep, as the world burned around them.  
  
He smiled faintly, thinking of how impossible all of it seemed, how unlikely the journey that had led him back to Sansa. And how somehow, in all of Westeros, he had been the one to find her sister, too, even if Arya had had other plans. Sandor didn’t know how all of this would end. He hadn’t seen Sansa in the fires. But he began to feel sure that there had been a plan which brought him here. A plan just as important as fighting the enemy from beyond the wall. The enemy seemed very distant right now, as if he had dreamt it. Tomorrow he was sure it would be all dead men and swords again. But for now, he had ended up in a world of softness and beauty.  
  
They danced for three songs before his stomach betrayed him and rumbled at the smell of the food. He had trained in the yard all day, almost besting Brienne of Tarth, and working with the bolder sort of untrained Northerners on their swordsmanship. He had been shocked when Lyanna Mormont had approached him to train, without so much as flinching at the sight of his face. Sansa heard his stomach rumbling, and patted his arm affectionately. “Come, let’s sit down. You must be hungry, Sandor.”  
  
“It is a feast, Little Bird. People usually eat at feasts.”  
  
“Come on then,” she said, taking him by the hand and somehow pulling him behind her, “You’ll need your strength for later.” She smiled knowingly at him over her shoulder.  
  
Sandor could not quite believe Sansa’s tongue had grown so bold. It saddened him a bit that she was no longer quite his little bird. But it also excited him. She would not be so brittle or untouchable now, and her womanly shape was much more appealing to Sandor than the girl she’d been in King’s Landing. Sansa’s words heated his blood, and he was lucky to make it to the dais without demonstrating his desire to half of the hall. But soon they were sat down again, just in time to be presented with a platter piled high with chicken. It seemed as if the gods were finally smiling down upon Sandor Clegane. 

Seeing Sandor thoroughly occupied with his meal, Sansa turned to Bran, who was examining food as if it were a foreign substance. She rarely saw him eat anymore.  
  
“Sansa,” Bran said, suddenly noticing her, “You have taken my words to heart. Good. You and Sandor need to stay close together. Release Brienne from your service. She has her own path with another. Sandor is your protector now. And you are his.”  
  
“Bran, I am grateful for your words, but are you still Bran? Are you still my brother?”  
  
“I am, and I am not. I care for you, but I care for everyone and everything. I don’t want anything for myself anymore, so I seem strange to you. I’m sorry if it makes you sad.”  
  
“It does make me sad,” Sansa said, stroking Bran’s shoulder. “But only because I want Bran to know that I love him. I never had a chance to say goodbye to him.”  
  
“He knows, Sansa. If you love him, stay strong, stay alive, and someday you will have children who will climb the walls of Winterfell and dream of becoming knights.”  
  
“They can play at being knights, but I’m not sure I’ll let them climb any walls,” Sansa said, furrowing her brow.  
  
“They will, though,” Bran said. “They will not fall.”  
  
Sansa took her brother’s hand and kissed his cheek.  
  
“Thank you, Sansa. Now I must rest,” said Bran.  
  
With that, Bran went very quiet and sat still as if watching the hall, though Sansa knew that if he was watching anything it was many miles away.

 

Jon had put the troubles of the world on hold tonight. It was difficult. He had spent so many years taking charge in impossible situations that relaxing felt like hard work. But for Dany’s sake, he had spent the night laughing and talking and eating, sometimes feeding Dany food from his fork, just as if they were young betrothed nobles safe in their parents’ keep.  
  
Jon had never known what that felt like. It was still strange to be up on the dais at Winterfell, rather than in the back of the hall, let alone to be feeding morsels of pigeon pie to a Targaryen queen. He smiled wistfully, imagining what Catelyn Stark would have made of all this. Then he looked over to the two of her children who’d elected to sit on the dais. Sansa was holding Bran’s hand, but for once she didn’t look so worried over him. Jon watched as she let go and Bran lapsed back into his Raven aspect. He leaned over to Dany and excused himself, then appeared at Sansa’s side.  
  
“May I have a dance?” Jon asked.  
  
“Of course,” Sansa replied. She tapped Sandor on the shoulder. “I’ll be back soon. I’m going to dance with Jon.”  
  
Sandor grunted his assent, somewhat preoccupied with his meal.  
  
“So Sandor Clegane, huh?” Jon asked, as they took their places with the other dancers.  
  
“So, your aunt?” Sansa said, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“I suppose you’re right,” Jon said. He grimaced a bit, and Sansa wondered if she’d been too harsh.  
  
“I’m sorry, Jon. I know you didn’t know. Are you going to tell her?”  
  
“I should, I suppose,” Jon said in a low voice. “She deserves to know. But if I tell her, what happens? I love her. I know it might be wrong, but I do. And I don’t care about the throne as long as it’s in good hands.”  
  
“And _will_ it be?” asked Sansa. “I don’t mean any disrespect, but how long have you actually known her? Have you seen her dragons in battle? Brienne heard of horrors from Jaime, not to mention she managed to destroy most of the food from the Reach. I know Ser Jaime is not the only one who’s worried about her judgment when it comes to her… children.”  
  
Jon paused. None of these concerns could be taken lightly, and yet, he knew Dany in a way none of them did. He also knew what it was to lead in a situation where every choice seemed equally impossible. She had freed slaves, brought ancient kingdoms to their knees, taken over a Khalasar. None of those feats had been achieved without difficult choices. He didn’t know how to express all that to Sansa, though.  
  
“I worry too, Sansa,” he said instead, “But she is on our side, whatever mistakes she has made. And we need unity going into this battle.”  
  
“Yes, we do,” Sansa said, thoughtfully. “And we need love. Do you love her, Jon, truly?”  
  
Jon remembered the day Daenerys had returned from battle on the back of Drogon. How magnificent she had been. There would never be another woman like her.  
  
He had other memories, too. Quieter but sweeter memories of swimming in a cave with a woman kissed by fire. Which one was love, he wasn’t sure. Maybe they both were.  
  
“Yes, I love her. Not the same way I once loved another. But I love her.”  
  
“Who was this other woman?” Sansa asked, intrigued.  
  
“She had red hair even brighter than yours. But she was a wilding. A warrior. Ygritte. I wonder what you would have thought of her. I’m sure Arya would’ve liked her.”  
  
“Who knows what I would have thought. I’m very different now,” Sansa said. “I’m about to take Sandor Clegane to bed.”  
  
“I’m not sure if I needed to know that,” said Jon.  
  
“Sure you do. You need to know it so you won’t try to fight him when he stumbles out of my room at 5 in the morning. I’m sure we’ll be married in due course. If we survive. Bran seems to think we will. He told me our children will climb the walls of Winterfell.”  
  
“Well, if Bran says it’s true, then I guess I better start getting used to having him as my brother. I suppose that means we’ll be related to the Mountain now too.”  
  
“I suppose it does,” shuddered Sansa. “But we don’t get to choose our relations.”  
  
“I would have chosen you,” Jon said, whirling Sansa around.  
  
Sansa laughed. “I would have chosen you too, Jon. May we all stay safe in the battles to come. I hope this won’t actually be our last feast all together.”  
  
“Where did Arya go, by the way?”  
  
Sansa raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t see? _Gendry Waters_! Or should I say Gendry _Baratheon_ and her ran off somewhere together. After he kissed her.”  
  
“Arya _kissed_ someone?” Jon said. This surprised him more than Sansa and Clegane.  
  
“I know, Arya Horseface finally all grown up. I guess we’ll be uniting House Baratheon and House Stark after all. Dad and King Robert would be so proud.”  
  
“I think they would be,” said Jon. And both Sansa and Jon imagined their father’s smiling face. The dance came to an end, and Jon guided Sansa back to Sandor, while he took his place next to Daenerys, who looked more pensive than any young woman in love had a right to be at a feast. 

 

She was pensive because while Jon had been dancing with Sansa, The Three-eyed Raven had reemerged from his trance to speak with her.  
  
“Daenerys Targaryen. You are a rightful claimant to the Iron Throne, but you do not have the best claim.”  
  
“What?” Daenerys said, only barely keeping her voice at a normal volume. She felt attacked, and her instinct was to call Ser Jorah to her side. But, after all, these were only words, and this was Jon’s brother. She calmed herself.  
  
“If not me, who then?” she asked. “The Baratheon usurpers are dead. Cersei has no right at all. She just found herself sitting there after everyone else died. My brother is dead. Who should sit on the Iron Throne if not the last Targaryen?”  
  
Bran turned to look her full in the eyes, and the depths Daenerys saw there were much more than a sorcerer’s trickery.  
  
“You are not the last Targaryen,” Bran said. “There is another.”  
  
Daenerys had no idea what to say. The Three-Eyed Raven had so far proven accurate in all of his statements, no matter how outlandish. It had begun to seem like a parlor trick. He had even found a missing book for Missandei the other day. But this? This was impossible.  
  
“Rhaegar left an heir,” he continued. “Lyanna Stark was married to Rhaegar Targaryen and willingly gave him a child, a boy. This boy looked nothing like a Targaryen. He was raised as a bastard, toughened by the Wall. A boy with all of Rhaegar’s skill and bravery. A boy who grew into a man who can ride a dragon as easily as you, once you let him.”  
  
“Jon…” Daenerys breathed out. Without question, she knew it to be true. Her dragons had recognized Jon. What’s more, _she_ had recognized him. Daenerys had avoided the family tendency to wed brother to sister, but she had never reviled it. The kinship she felt for Jon reminded her of happier early days with Viserys, before he had turned bitter and cruel. Now she knew why.  
  
“His name is Aegon Targaryen. But we can keep calling him Jon. He is the heir. He knows this, but he is not telling you. He doesn’t care if he is the king. He is happy for you to be the queen. He loves you. He only wishes to unite Westeros. Remember this when we fight the battle of the living and the dead. Remember this again when we fight to win King’s Landing. Be the queen we need, and he will be your loyal king and never ask to be more than Jon Snow.”  
  
Daenerys felt the wind knocked out of her, a peculiar feeling of deflation. Everything she believed about herself was gone. The idea that she was special or deserved to rule, suddenly gone. The feeling that it _must_ be her, gone. She watched Jon dancing with his sister and wondered if he were really still loyal to her, or if that loyalty had fallen apart when he learned the truth. Then she realized that he could have staked his claim before the whole north at any time. He could have stopped smiling at her, holding her hand, seeking her chambers at night at any time. Despite the new truth, he still believed in her. He still loved her.

Jon and Sansa’s dance ended, and Jon returned to Daenerys’ side, smiling. Daenerys felt a weight fall from her shoulders. As long as she had felt herself uniquely qualified to rule the seven kingdoms she had spent every day feeling alone, burdened, unable to love anyone with her whole heart after Drogo had died. Her duty to become the queen had been paramount. But now she could loosen her grip. Whether she or Jon ruled, a Targaryen would sit the throne, and now that she knew he had more of a right, she could share power freely.  
  
Should she tell him she knew? No, not for now. She would remain silent. But she would love him. And she would listen to his counsel. There were times when she could be too rash. She was used to feeling herself a queen, whereas Jon had grown up following orders and learning how to see all sides. What she lacked in patience, he provided. She hoped they would be married soon before their true relationship could come to light. Let it be done, so that no one could say anything to stop it. Daenerys reached out her hand to Jon and her serious look transformed into a welcoming beam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really liked writing this chapter. Though I'm definitely mainly a Jaime/Brienne SanSan shipper (with a side of Gendrya), I can identify with and have affection for all the characters in the book and show who aren't obvious, irredeemable villains (Ramsay Bolton, Joffrey, Cersei, Walder Frey, etc.) Therefore I really enjoyed bringing Jon and Dany into the mix in this chapter. Their journeys especially in the book are so parallel. They have both gone through similar struggles on their journey and I wanted to bring out that aspect in this chapter.
> 
> As to Bran, I do realize that he sounds a bit like Yoda here. There are a few lines that are straight up Star Wars inspired, but I like it, so it stayed.
> 
> Finally, next few chapters should be straight up smut-land, with maybe a side of the Bronn/Tyrion show. Stay tuned. It may take a few days to punch up that smut, but we'll get there. :)


	7. The Main Course Pt 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After some light dinner conversation, this chapter will be entering Smut City, earning this fic its Explicit rating. You have been warned!

“Well, would you look at that,” Bronn said, in between bites of chicken legs, “that fat Maester has definitely been fucking.” Bronn pointed to a couple who had just entered the hall. The woman was not-so-discreetly lacing up the top of her dress.  
  
“His name is Samwell Tarly, _Lord_ Tarly now that his father and brother are dead, and he’s not exactly a Maester, although apparently he cured Jorah Mormont of Greyscale,” Tyrion said.  
  
“You’re skipping right over the important bit. He’s been fucking.”  
  
“Yes, I suppose he has,” Tyrion said. “But that’s hardly news. They’re not married, but no one seems to care. The Seven Kingdoms are growing less formal by the day.”  
  
“Well, if even that fat half-Maester is fucking, what are _we_ doing?” Bronn said.  
  
“We’re _eating_ , I thought. You seemed to be enjoying yourself well enough until a moment ago.” Tyrion couldn’t help letting his annoyance show in his tone. It was one small step from abusing the overweight to abusing the undersized.  
  
“Well, I’m going to the kitchens for a bit. See if I can find anything _else_ to eat,” Bronn said. He clearly wasn’t referring to food.  
  
“Enjoy your meal,” Tyrion said, then looked around a bit sadly. Bronn could be a pain at times, but that didn’t mean he wanted to lose all his company. Fortunately, before he could grow too bored he was joined by Lord Varys.  
  
“Ah, Varys,” Tyrion said. “So what have your little birds learned lately?”  
  
“Alas, I have not yet cultivated many little birds in the North, but I can tell you a few things. Your brother has taken a lover, Arya Stark will almost certainly be marrying the Baratheon heir and Sandor Clegane may soon be the Lord of Winterfell.”  
  
“Old friend, you disappoint me. I knew every one of those things already. What’s the real news?” Varys raised his eyebrows in surprise but kept going.  
  
“A certain Missandei of Naath has made inquiries about you.”  
  
“Really?” Tyrion said. But he only let himself grow interested for a moment. “You must be mistaken. She’s clearly preoccupied with Greyworm.”  
  
“Far be it from me to disturb the love of one of my brotherhood of eunuchs, but Missandei may have more than one interest. She commented favorably on, what was it, your _learning and sophistication_?”  
  
“Well, it’s about time somebody noticed,” Tyrion said.  
  
“Oh, I’ve always noticed, my lord. You put up a good show of drinking and whoring, but in your heart you’re a maester of the citadel.”  
  
“If only it weren’t for those pesky vows of celibacy,” Tyrion said.  
  
“As to that,” Varys said, looking pointedly at Sam and Gilly.  
  
“Well, they’re not exactly at the Citadel anymore either.”  
  
“No, not at the Citadel. Merely advising Daenerys, First of Her Name, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.”  
  
Suddenly Tyrion realized that as many secrets as Varys knew there was one giant secret he still had no idea about, despite at least 7 other people being in on it. Varys still had no idea that Jon was Aegon Targaryen. Tyrion smiled. It felt good to know things.  
  
“A toast, Lord Varys. To married maesters and sex-crazed septas.” Tyrion raised his glass. It felt good to drink.

 

Brienne was down to her shift, and Jaime down to nothing but a pair of breeches. His golden hand was even discarded, left on the floor. They sat on her bed, facing each other in the candlelight, neither one moving for the moment. Despite Jaime’s repeated assurances, Brienne felt scared again. Only a shift between her and possible humiliation. Before she could think about it more, Brienne gathered her remaining courage, pulled the shift up and off, and lay back on the bed naked, bracing herself for Jaime’s reaction.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Brienne said, covering her breasts and looking away, before he could say anything.  
  
“You’re sorry?” Jaime asked gently. “What are you sorry for, Brienne?” he asked. He lay down next to her and kissed her on the cheek.  
  
“Are you sorry for _this_?” he asked. Jaime pulled Brienne’s face towards him, then kissed her on the mouth, her full lips softly yielding. He stayed with the kiss for a few minutes, slowly moving his hand down to stroke her bare neck and shoulder.  
  
“Are you sorry for _this_?” Jaime asked again. He moved his lips down to her neck, where he kissed and sucked until Brienne began to moan. He looked up at Brienne, her eyes still closed. Her body, though trembling from excitement, still seemed taut and braced for some attack.  
  
“I hope you’re not sorry for _this_ ,” Jaime said. He planted soft kisses all along Brienne’s collarbone, chasing every freckle as his hand slowly stroked down her side. Brienne sighed, and her hands began to slide off her breasts.  
  
“I _really_ hope that you’re not sorry for _this_ ,” Jaime said. He removed Brienne’s hand from her left breast, and before she realized what was happening, took her nipple in his mouth and began to gently suck.  
  
Brienne jerked and moaned.  
  
“Mmmmm…” Jaime said. “Nothing to be sorry for _here_. Such a lovely sensitive breast. I’d like to see the other one too.”  
  
Jaime sought her eyes, asking for permission. Brienne gave the smallest of nods and went lax as he took her other hand off her right breast.  
  
Jaime climbed on top of her now, and leaned down to take her right breast in his mouth, licking and sucking at the nipple. Brienne felt the hardness in his breeches, pushing down between her legs.  
  
“Jaime,” she moaned, much louder than she intended, unconsciously adjusting her body to accommodate him.  
  
“See,” Jaime said. “There’s nothing to be sorry about here.”  
  
Jaime lowered his head again and began to trail kisses down her abdomen, stopping at her navel to dig his tongue inside. Just when Brienne thought Jaime would have to return to her mouth, he turned his attention lower still, kissing below her navel towards the juncture of her thighs. Brienne panicked and clamped a hand over her mound.  
  
“Brienne,” Jaime said chidingly, “could _this_ be what you’re sorry about? i can't believe it. This is the crown jewel of them all.”  
  
Jaime didn’t bother to remove Brienne's hand. Instead he began to lick and kiss his way around the barrier her hand had created. First, he kissed his way around her lower abdomen. Brienne began to tremble. Then Jaime moved his mouth down to her inner thigh, which he lightly bit. Brienne was so surprised she nearly kicked out at him.  
  
“Oh!” she gasped, but she managed to keep her hand in place, her long fingers just managing to cover her entrance.  
  
“If you’re sorry about all this, wench, I really worry about you,” Jaime said. He continued to playfully lick and bite her strong inner thighs, taking in her scent as her juices began to flow.  
  
Jaime kept talking to her, stopping to lick and bite at her thighs after every few words. “In Harrenhal… this area you are covering… your women’s parts… This is the very place… I’ve wanted to see… touch… and lick… for many... lonely... nights.”  
  
Brienne blushed as her cunt throbbed and her thighs trembled. _Was he saying that he’d thought about her that way? On many nights?_  
  
“Yes, Brienne,” Jaime said, as if reading her mind, continuing to punctuate each few words with a kiss. “Alone at night... I’d dream of your cunt... which for some reason… you are momentarily... hiding… I’d pleasure myself to the thought of you.” Jaime gripped her hip and moved his head back up to kiss her navel before ducking down again to resume his teasing.  
  
“Now here I am... at the very site of my dreams… and it’s closed… Pity.” Jaime’s tongue was lapping against the tips of her fingers now, perilously close to her opening. She knew that if her fingers slipped, his tongue would replace them.  
  
Brienne’s lust began to overpower her shame. Almost unconsciously, her hand had begun to move slowly back and forth across her lower lips, occasionally sinking down between her folds, trying to soothe the aching need she felt. Jaime continued licking around the edges while Brienne slowly stroked and moaned low in her throat. As shy as she was, Brienne recognized that she wanted Jaime’s tongue where her hand was. Experimentally, she let her hand slide up an inch, revealing her opening.  
  
“Ah, wench…” Jaime sighed. He took a lick around the outside of her entrance, then nudged upwards between her iips.  
  
Almost as soon as Brienne felt Jaime's tongue exploring her, she gave up any semblance of shame and moved her hand out of the way. The intimacy of Jaime tasting her down there was almost as overpowering as the actual sensations he was creating. As Jaime continued to lick circles around her opening and up and down her folds, Brienne began touching her nub, first wetting it, then stroking it slowly but firmly. Jaime did his best to sneak glances at her pleasuring herself, a pleasant sight which increased his arousal to a nearly painful degree.  
  
As Brienne began to tremble and tense, he raised his head briefly. “May I?” he asked, looking at Brienne’s busy hand. She blushed, but took her hand away to rest on her belly. Immediately Jaime took her clit in his mouth, and sucked it gently, using his left hand to hold her hip in place.  
  
Brienne felt the tension she knew from the rare occasions when she’d touched herself there, but it was so much more intense. She knew it was inevitable now. Soon she was going to lose all sense of herself under Jaime Lannister’s mouth. She was moaning quite constantly now, and she found it strange that her own moans turned her on even more. She didn’t even care if anyone heard. She had never known such pleasure.  
  
Jaime seemed to sense her pleasure rising and began to suck her harder. Suddenly her cunt throbbed and clenched over and over, spreading a warm flood through her whole body.  
  
“Jaime!” she cried, gripping the bed. Jaime continued to suck very lightly as the waves of pleasure washed through her, her eyes closed, her body totally open to him. There was nothing left to be sorry for. 

When Brienne emerged from the fog of pleasure, Jaime was lying by her side, looking down at her with a loving smile. “Wench, wench, wench,” he said.  
  
“My name is still Brienne, you know,” she said lazily.  
  
“Everyone calls you Brienne. I’m the only one who can call you wench. Anyone else tries to call you that, I’ll hit them with the golden hand.”  
  
Brienne laughed, a girlish laugh that was only for Jaime. He stroked her hair and bent down to kiss her, his hand lightly grazing her breast.  
  
“Jaime,” she said, breaking their kiss. “Wouldn’t you like to have me now? I mean, wouldn’t it be better, for you?”  
  
Jaime saw the desire in Brienne’s eyes. He was sure she did care about his pleasure. But he was also sure that this was her way of asking him to take her. And if Brienne was asking him to take her, she must want it very much.  
  
“Yes, Brienne,” he said, “I’d like that. If you’re ready.”  
  
Brienne nodded, but there was a lump in her throat. _She would already give her life for Jaime, if need be. How would she feel after their bodies were joined? How much more could she love this man?_ She was scared, but she was willing to find out.  
  
Jaime began to unlace his breeches, and instinctively Brienne reached down to help. She gasped at the sight of him. He was more muscular than he’d been at Harrenhal, and though she had never tried to look at other men, she knew from accidental glances that his male part was a good size. Her cunt throbbed again at the sight of it.  
  
After casting his breeches aside, Jaime stretched his full naked weight on top of her, pulling her into a deep kiss, rubbing against her chest, and letting his cock come into gradual contact with her hips and thighs. As they moved together, Brienne’s legs opened of their own accord, and suddenly Jaime’s cock was right where they both wanted it, brushing against her already wet entrance.  
  
Brienne had heard that it would hurt from her septa, but she doubted that, along with all of her septa’s other advice. Certainly none of it seemed to be very accurate when it came to her and Jaime Lannister. So when Jaime asked, “Are you ready?” in the new low, sexy voice she’d only started hearing tonight, she smiled expectantly.  
  
It didn’t hurt. She was already so wet that all she felt was a stretching and pleasant sense of being filled, as Jaime pushed into her in one slow fluid thrust, until their bodies were completely joined. She looked down at the juncture where their bodies met and was almost completely overcome with lust, her cunt throbbing out of control at the combined feel and sight of him.  
  
“Brienne,” Jaime moaned. He pulled out of her slowly and thrust back in again. As he pulled out, Brienne felt hungry for him, as if her cunt were an extra mouth. She tried to grip him closer with her legs and angled herself up to take more of him in. He continued to move in and out of her in a slow steady rhythm, all the while looking into her eyes. Brienne was overwhelmed by his expression. He looked so wild and undone.  
  
She grinned.  
  
“Am I making you happy, wench? The gods know I’m making you wet.”  
  
Brienne moaned, the intimate words turning her on further. She felt herself on the verge of coming again already.  
  
Jaime, meanwhile, was barely hanging on. It had been a long time, and this was also more exciting than any sex he’d ever had. There was no need to hide, no need to feel ashamed. Jaime had waited a long time to be with Brienne, and he was sure of their love. It was easy to let go with her, difficult to control himself.  
  
Jaime began to increase his speed, and Brienne’s body moved along with his. With each thrust she tried to open her legs a little wider, and soon he was bumping against her back walls, hitting a spot that felt almost painfully good. Jaime felt himself getting closer and closer. Then Brienne’s eyes rolled up, and her cunt clenched his cock over and over again, pulling his orgasm out of him.  
  
Jaime groaned deep in his throat and spilled his seed down in her depths, thrusting slowly a few more times until he collapsed on top of her, kissing her cheek and wrapping her in his arms. Brienne was his wife now, as surely as if they had already said their vows. He would do anything to protect her as long as he drew breath.  
  
Brienne, meanwhile, felt fully alive for the first time in many years. Just a few hours ago she had assumed she would die a maid. If she survived the wars at all she had expected she’d live to see Jaime wed some beautiful young woman, while she continued to selflessly serve the Starks.  
  
But now, lying in Jaime’s arms, she wanted more from life. Brienne promised herself that both of them would survive the war against the army of the dead. They would spend thousands of nights like this. They would take pleasure in each other’s arms over and over again, and eventually they would have a big beautiful family. She would be a mother, Jaime would be a father. Who cared where? Tarth, Casterly Rock, Winterfell. Essos, for all she cared. Wherever they were, this is what mattered. Brienne gave her mouth to Jaime and relaxed into another deep kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this chapter several times. The result is, I'm very happy with my smut, uncertain about the other conversations and the fluff. However, it's just time to get a chapter out there!
> 
> There will be more SanSan and Gendrya in subsequent chapters, not to worry. I have not yet decided whether to write any Jon/Dany smut. Eventually I'm also planning on bringing in some unexpected characters to join the feast. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting everyone! Writing this has been at times very enjoyable and always good practice!


	8. Forging Alliances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recipe for this Chapter:  
> 3/4 cup Smut  
> 1/4 cup Fluff  
> 1 tsp. of quickly dissipated Angst  
> and a dash of Tyrion 
> 
> This was one of the hardest chapters to write because I have the least experience reading/writing Gendrya fic. I hope my vision sits well with people. By the way, did you see that group picture from Spain today? Talk about Gendrya inspiration!

Gendry and Arya were completely naked. It hadn’t happened all at once. At first they had wrestled and rolled around on Gendry’s bed, fully clothed. Gendry had been more than happy to touch Arya above her clothes. He’d felt her small pointed breasts through the fabric of her shirt; run his hands down her legs; felt her hips, thighs, and ass through her tight breeches; kissed her again and again.  
  
But before he had quite realized what was happening, Arya had managed to slip off first his shirt, then her shirt, then her pants, then his pants, until they were both as naked as their name days. She’d begun touching him immediately, raking her fingers up and down his chest and back, making him shiver. She was as natural at this as she was at fighting, and it was easy to forget that she was still innocent.  
  
He’d remembered, though, when she’d gasped at the sight of his fully erect cock. Though she’d immediately taken it into her hands to explore, as if she did things like this every day, Gendry hadn’t been fooled. It would be difficult to control himself, but he had to. He had a responsibility to protect Arya’s virtue until they were married, whatever Arya might have to say about it.  
  
It meant something to him to wait. King Robert had left him to a bastard’s life, but he would father no bastards. He might have been raised on the streets of Flea Bottom, but he was determined to show the Starks and the other nobility of Westeros that the last Baratheon was just as honorable as any of them. He gently moved Arya’s hands from his cock before she could excite him too much, and when she pulled a face he smiled and said, “Later.”  
  
His sense of honor didn’t stop him from touching her, however. Her breasts were perfect, smallish but almost obscenely upstanding. His mouth eagerly closed over her nipple and began to suck. Arya laughed.  
  
“Is _that_ what men do?” she asked.  
  
“Are you complaining?” he asked, raising his head up and tweaking the same nipple lightly. She gasped.  
  
“No,” she said, “it’s just strange, like being suckled by a babe.”  
  
Gendry seemed a bit embarrassed, but responded by lightly grinding his hips into hers, and staring intensely into her eyes. “Do I seem like a babe to you now?” he asked.  
  
“No, “ Arya whimpered. He seemed dangerously attractive. He was making it difficult for her to keep her composure. The problem was, perhaps, that she’d learned to keep calm in the face of pain and fear, not so much in the face of pleasure.  
  
“If I displease my lady, just tell me to stop,” Gendry said. He continued to slowly work his hips against hers, as he bent back to the task of licking, sucking and caressing her breasts.  
  
Arya had seen crude fumblings on her journeys with the Hound and as she sold oysters in the brothels of Braavos, but she had never imagined subtle touches like this. Her breasts had always seemed like a nuisance before, something to bind in order to fight better. But as she felt his mouth working over them, she began to see their value. Warmth seeped through her body from the crown of her head to the join of her legs. Just when her sensations began to grow out of control, and she was ready to call out his name, Gendry turned her over onto her side, lay next to her, and kissed her deeply.  
  
“Would you like something more?” he asked.  
  
“Yes,” Arya said. _Finally_ , she thought. _He’s going to take away this ridiculous maidenhead, and maybe we can forget all this business of marriage._ Arya wanted to _be_ with Gendry, but she also wanted to be free. She wanted to know pleasure and companionship and adventure, not the duty and responsibilities she associated with marriage.  
  
Arya readied herself for Gendry's approach, expecting he would bring his cock against her body and take her. She was surprised when she instead felt his rough fingers move between her legs and begin to touch her there.  
  
At first it was just light strokes, teasing and tentative. She felt curious but also suddenly shy. It was too tender, too intimate.  
  
Gendry sensed her shying away, and removed his fingers. “Should I stop?” he asked.  
  
Part of her wanted to say yes, to make her awkward feelings go away. But she realized she was practically squirming already from the absence of those rough fingers. She had to know what came next. “No,” she said, striving to sound in control, “keep going.”  
  
Gendry returned his fingers to her cunt, stroking lightly for a little while longer, but as she began to warm to him, he took both his hands and began to open her up like a secret box, pulling aside folds of skin until he came to a little nub that Arya had noticed before but hadn’t really known what to do with. _Gendry knew_.  
  
Alternating between touching her directly on the spot and stroking around it, Gendry was making her throb down there. At first he licked his fingers to wet her, but soon he began dipping fingers just into her entrance, pulling moisture from her own body. Arya began to watch him work, the way she would watch him at the forge. Watching only seemed to make her wetter.  
  
Arya began to moan as he continued swirling his fingers around her nub The pleasure came and went at first. Sometimes he’d touch her in a way that made her want to scream with joy, other times he’d lose the sweet spot, but gradually the pleasure grew so intense that every touch of his hands, even his hand gripping her hip to hold her in place, lit her on fire.  
  
Gendry lay Arya on her back now, and raising himself on one elbow, continued to touch her. “Just close your eyes,” he said. “Relax.” She did.  
  
A force was building inside her, something new and a bit frightening. She was so used to being in control of her emotions, her expressions, her movements, that it utterly shocked her when the pleasure burst in her and her entire body fell into a sort of convulsion, making her arch her back and let out a scream.  
  
After the first shock subsided, without thinking, she reached up and grabbed for Gendry, pressing her mouth against his, demanding a kiss. He returned her kiss very willingly, but kept his hand between her legs, working her gently as the throbs subsided. Finally he collapsed half on top of her and she felt his still hard cock pressing against her inner thigh, so close to her opening.  
  
Feeling him there, she was both completely satisfied and incredibly frustrated.  
  
“I know there’s more,” Arya said. “Why won’t you take me like a man takes a woman?” she asked. She felt his cock stir at her words. _She knew what to do with it now_ , she thought. _Stick them with the pointy end_. She burst into a fit of giggles.  
  
“What are you laughing about, you crazy girl?” Gendry asked.  
  
“Nothing,” Arya said, squirming against him some more, “except I want you to _fuck_ me.” The word felt good on her tongue, natural.  
  
“Unghhh,” Gendry groaned. “No, not yet.” He rolled off of Arya and sat up.  
  
“But _why_?” Arya whined. She felt foolish and lonely in her nakedness suddenly. _Maybe she wasn’t enough of a woman for Gendry after all. Maybe she’d disappointed him_.  
  
“Because, Arya Stark, I want you to marry me first.” He looked deep into her eyes. _Damn him_ , she thought, _why does he have to be so appealing_?  
  
“But then I’ll be a _wife_ ,” Arya said, spitting it out like a dirty word.  
  
“I know. And I’ll be your husband. And then if you get big with my child I won’t have to feel badly about it, and your brother won’t have to kill me.” Gendry smiled, and took her hand. Arya took it back, sadly. _That wasn’t her, didn’t he know_?  
  
“What if I don’t want a child?” she asked.  
  
“Well,” Gendry said, somewhat sadly, “there’s moon tea.”  
  
“I’ll take that _now_ , then. I don’t want to be a wife,” she said.  
  
“You mean you don’t want to be _my_ wife,” he said.  
  
“Are you stupid?” she said. “Who else’s wife do you think I’d ever want to be?” She put her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes. “I just mean, I don’t want to be a lady staying at home in a castle, doing needlepoint and having babies. Not even your babies. Not for a long time at least. Maybe never.” She let the silence rest between them. He had to understand.  
  
“You don’t have to do that then,” Gendry said, finally. He took her hand again, this time holding it in both of his. “When you’re my wife, you can fight by my side. You can train in the yard all day. You can wear breeches. I never wanted you to be different. If you want a child, I would like that. But if you don’t. If you don’t, I don’t want anyone else's child. I want you.”  
  
Arya looked into his eyes seriously. “You swear to it that I would be free?” she asked. “What if I needed to wander off alone for a while? What if I needed to return to Braavos to train?”  
  
“Then I would let you go,” Gendry gulped, looking down at her hand in his. “But I don’t want you to go, Arya.” Gendry sighed and faced her. He didn’t think it was wise to say it so soon, but he couldn’t keep the words stuck in his throat. “I love you.”  
  
“Oh,” she said. She didn’t have the right words for him yet. She hadn’t really thought about love at all. Was it when you’d die saving someone? Was it when you smiled when you saw them or thought of them? Was it when they felt like home? Was it when they made you feel like your body was on fire? Was it a little bit of all of these things? If so, then maybe she loved him.  
  
“I,” she started. “I might love you too.”  
  
Gendry laughed. “Well don’t sound so sure about it, or I’ll be getting a big head.” He wrestled her back down on the bed, touching and kissing her. His cock occasionally brushed against her thighs as they grappled, until suddenly Arya spread her legs wider and angled up her hips, and he nearly slipped inside her. Gendry pushed himself off her again, wishing for a cold bucket of water to help with his self-control. He turned his back on her. He couldn’t even look at her flushed naked body or he’d be lost.  
  
“You love me, I love you, why can’t we finish what we started?” Arya said, wishing she didn’t sound so pouty.  
  
“I’ll touch you again. I’ll hold you. I’ll do whatever you like with my mouth and fingers, but I’m not going to risk a child unless we’re married. Even moon tea doesn’t always work," he said.  
  
“Then I’ll marry you,” Arya said decidedly. “Tomorrow.”  
  
Gendry’s eyes widened in surprise and he turned back towards her. “Tomorrow? But how? Won’t I need to get permission?”  
  
“From who?” Arya said. “Sansa? Jon? No. All you need is my approval. Tomorrow we’ll be wed and then we’ll come back to bed immediately. And you just better hope the white walkers don’t come before you teach me what men and women do, because if they do I might die a maid.”  
  
“You’re not going to die as long as I’m breathing.”  
  
Arya rolled her eyes at him, but secretly she was pleased by the sort of gallant statements Sansa would’ve swooned over when they were girls. _What was happening to her? Since when had she ever cared about dying a maid anyway? It was no use wondering_ , she supposed. She cared now.  
  
“So what are we going to do now if you have to be such a great lord and be so honorable? Do you want to spar?” Arya japed. She hoped he wouldn’t take her up on that because she had no desire to spar for maybe the first time ever.  
  
Gendry thought for a moment, then smiled wickedly. “Would you like me to show you what ‘The Bear and the Maiden Fair’ is really about?”  
  
“Umm…. okay,” Arya said, confused and a little nervous. _Was this going to involve putting honey in her hair? That didn’t seem very promising._  
  
Without giving her much time to ponder, Gendry pushed Arya back down on the bed, and lowered his head towards her belly.  
  
“Oh!” Arya gasped as his tongue touched her nub for the first time. Then he swirled it around. “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh!” she cried.  
  
When Jaime and Brienne passed by the forge some minutes later, screams were echoing from inside. It was all Jaime could do to keep Brienne away from the door.  
  
“Someone may be in trouble,” she protested.  
  
“Do you remember what you sounded like a half hour ago?” he asked.  
  
“Oh,” she blushed.  
  
“Yes. _Oh_ ,” he said, smiling smugly. He stopped to kiss her again, before pulling her on towards the great hall. 

 

Sansa did not have the luxury of leaving the feast early like Brienne or Arya. She was the Lady of Winterfell, and, as such, she needed to stay up on the dais at least until most of the assembled noblemen and women had eaten their fill, danced a bit and faded away in pairs to other parts of the castle. It was becoming pretty clear that despite a glaring shortage of women, those who had women tonight were taking full advantage of the fact.  
  
The band finally stopped playing just after midnight, and even over the laughter and shouts of the remaining company you could hear lustful cries emanating from various parts of the castle.  
  
Just as Sansa found herself wondering if any of those cries might be coming from her sworn sword, the lady Brienne herself walked back into the hall, hand in hand with Ser Jaime. It appeared, also, that they’d both had a change of wardrobe. Brienne was back in her man’s garb and Jaime had definitely been wearing a different shirt. Sansa wasn’t the only one who noticed.  
  
“Well, well Jaime, well done,” Tyrion called from his table, where he’d been joined again by Podrick and Bronn. Podrick’s eyes went wide.  
  
“I don’t know what you mean, brother,” Jaime said. “We were merely sparring. We enjoy a good fight. Gets our juices flowing.”  
  
Brienne blushed a deep red, as Jaime winked at her.  
  
“But congratulations will be in order soon," Jaime said. "I would like to know, is there a septon anywhere?”  
  
Jaime appeared to be speaking not just to Tyrion, but to anyone left in the hall sober enough to answer. Sansa, Sandor, Jon, Daenerys, Sam, Gilly, Varys and a few of the noblemen from the Vale looked up in curiosity.  
  
Lord Mychel Redfort of the Vale piped up. “A Septon Meribald just arrived yesterday seeking shelter. A little rough-looking but holy and learned enough. Will he do?”  
  
Brienne thought the name seemed familiar but couldn’t say why.  
  
“Yes,” Jaime said, smiling still more brightly, “He will be wonderful. Where is he?”  
  
“Sleeping most like,” Lord Redfort said. “What’s the hurry?”  
  
“If you were lucky enough to marry this woman, would you wait?” Jaime asked.  
  
Mychel Redfort looked Brienne over and thought, _yes, he very much would wait_ , but it didn’t seem very politic to say so. He smiled instead and said, “Seven blessings to you, Ser Jaime.”  
  
The hall echoed with similar congratulations and blessings. Brienne sought out Sansa’s eyes, worried she would be upset, but Sansa only smiled. Bronn raised a glass to Jaime, his smile smug and knowing. Pod caught Brienne’s eye and smiled shyly. While everyone else began to return to their conversations, Tyrion and Sansa rose to join them.  
  
“You were sparring, eh?” Tyrion said. “Looks like you won, in that case brother, for she's surely the better prize. Congratulations. When do you intend to wed?” he asked.  
  
“Tomorrow. Early,” he answered. Brienne smiled.  
  
“But how will we arrange a proper wedding on such short notice?” asked Sansa, her logistical mind taking over.  
  
“Never mind that, we just want to be married,” Jaime said. “Tyrion, you can stand up for me, and Sansa perhaps you could stand up for Lady Brienne. We have a septon. There’s a wedding.”  
  
“And Lady Brienne, how about _you_? Are you sure you want to take on my brother Jaime so rashly?” Tyrion asked.  
  
She felt nervous declaring her feelings in front of more people, as if the last few hours might evaporate like a dream, but she supposed she’d have to get used to it if she was to be married tomorrow.  
  
“Lord Tyrion, there is no man I would marry other than Jaime, and I would marry him right now if I could.”  
  
Sansa smiled and nearly grabbed Tyrion’s hand in her enthusiasm. _It was so romantic._ Tyrion was happy for his brother, and overjoyed that he’d never need to worry about Cersei coming between them again. Not with that lovesick way he was looking at Brienne.  
  
“Well that’s settled then,” Tyrion said. “But, please, Brienne, do not call me Lord. Call me Tyrion, or perhaps the Imp if you’re feeling especially daring.”  
  
Brienne looked at Jaime questioningly and Jaime laughed. “Don’t worry brother. She’ll grow accustomed to your peculiar sense of humor soon enough if we survive this war.”  
  
“I hope we will all have that chance. Come Brienne, drink with us. I promise I’ll only let Bronn make 3 rude remarks.”  
  
“Wait just a moment, Brienne,” Sansa said, taking her hand. “Brienne, I mean no disrespect to you by this. But it’s time for me to release you from my service. You will still always have a place at my table, but your loyalties now belong to Jaime and to the realm. I want you to be free to start a new life when all this is over.”  
  
“But Lady Sansa-” Brienne started to protest.  
  
“Your vow has been fulfilled. Ten times over. I’m happy for you. Anyway, this isn’t goodbye.”  
  
“My Lady,” Brienne said. She knelt before Sansa, just as she had on the day she came into her service, took her hand in hers, and kissed it.  
  
“Rise, Lady Brienne of Tarth. You will be a friend of House Stark forever.” Sansa put her arms around Brienne and embraced her. She added quietly. "And you will always be a friend to me." They both had tears in their eyes as Sansa left Brienne and returned to sit with Sandor, who looked quite amused by the whole proceeding.  
  
“Okay, _now_ , time to drink,” Tyrion said, leading Brienne by the hand to their table. “And eat, I suppose. Have you two eaten _anything_?”  
  
They both shook their heads sheepishly. “Pod, get these two a plate!” Tyrion shouted.  
  
“Yes my lord, my lady,” Pod said, looking flustered.  
  
Brienne went to sit down with her new family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SanSan will be getting more play very soon, but don't think I'm done with any of their others! There are still weddings to be had, secrets to be more fully revealed, and I have my endgame for this fic. As I said I may write sequels or it may just be a more abbreviated epilogue. Leaning towards the latter, because I currently have a backlog of about 6 other fics I'm dying to write, all GOT, mostly Braime with some other ships mixed in.


	9. Hounds of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been either mentally or physically ill for most of the last several months, so I apologize for the gap in updates. I'm hoping to return now with regular updates, having sorted at least some of those problems out. Keep your fingers crossed for me!

Brienne and Jaime were served heaping plates of the food that remained. Brienne’s stomach was still too full of butterflies to do much more than pick at her food, but their recent encounter seemed to have had the opposite effect on Jaime. He was eating tremendous amounts of stew, bread and meat with gusto, pausing to make “Mmm” noises every now and again. Brienne cut his meat for him without being asked, smiling at his enthusiasm.  
  
“Haven’t seen this one eat so much since, well, ever,” Bronn said to Brienne. “You must have given him a good f-” Bronn started.  
  
“ _Fight_ ,” Tyrion said. “Jaime always told me what an excellent fighter Brienne was.”  
  
Brienne blushed despite Tyrion’s intervention. Jaime, sensing her shyness, pressed his thigh closer to hers and put his right arm around her back.  
  
“I have an appetite because I’m happy, Bronn. You met me in a dark time, but tomorrow I’ll be the happiest man in the world.”  
  
“At least someone will be. I couldn’t find a woman to take to bed in all of Winterfell. I’d go out looking among the Dothraki but I’m not in the mood for an arakh fight tonight.”  
  
“Never fear, Bronn, when all this is done, you’ll have a castle each from Jaime and myself, and what woman wouldn’t want a man with two castles?” Tyrion said.  
  
“A dead woman,” Bronn said. “Like as not we’ll all be dead within the month.”  
  
“How very cheerful,” Tyrion said. “Pod, how about you? Any luck with that girl I saw you dancing with?”  
  
“Alys Karstark? She’s a nice girl I suppose,” Pod said. “But she seems young. And she can’t fight or hunt.”  
  
“Most women can’t, Pod,” Brienne said. “I would be that way too if I hadn’t been born ugly.”  
  
“Not ugly to me,” Jaime said, pulling her closer.  
  
“Not ugly to me either, my lady,” Pod said.  
  
“I’d fuck you,” Bronn said simply.  
  
“Bronn!” Jaime said warningly.  
  
“What?” Bronn said. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to try. _You_ might not be able to beat me in a fight, but _she_ would.”  
  
Brienne was blushing more than ever, but she was secretly a bit pleased. She’d never received so much genuine positive male attention before.  
  
Pod got up from the table. “My lady, I have to go to the outer wall now. Guard duty,” he said.  
  
“Will you be returning to the room tonight, Pod?” Brienne asked, trying to sound casual.  
  
“Not until morning, my lady,” Pod said smiling. “I’ll knock when I return.”  
  
Brienne blushed but smiled. Jaime rubbed her back then gripped her hip firmly.  
  
“Stay warm out there, lad. Don’t let any wights sneak up behind you,” Bronn said.  
  
“I won’t, my lord. My Lords, my Lady,” Pod bowed and left the table.  
  
“I’ve done a lot of great things in my life. But sometimes I think helping that boy along was the greatest,” Tyrion said, as they watched Pod leave.  
  
Before they could resume eating, Samwell Tarly approached, pushing Bran in his chair.  
  
“Excuse me,” Sam said, “But Bran, erm, The Three-Eyed Raven, that is, said he wanted to talk to Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime.”  
  
“Hello, Sam. Hello, Lord Bran,” Brienne said. Brienne liked Sam from what she knew of him. He was always polite and kind. And Bran was strange, certainly, but still one of the Stark children whom she would always feel protective towards, sworn sword or no. Rather than acknowledging Brienne’s greeting the Three-Eyed Raven simply began speaking, directing his words to the couple.  
  
“The feast has done its work. Yours will be more than a marriage. Yours will be the greatest bond in the war for the living. We will live or die from the strength of your bond. Now, I think we will live. Your swords will burn brighter now that your hearts are united.”  
  
A silence fell over the group, and over a few adjoining tables which also seemed to have heard the raven's pronouncement. Brienne and Jaime looked at each other, half in fear, half in awe. It was one thing to be in love, but to be told that your love would somehow be responsible for victory or defeat was a bit overwhelming. Brienne wanted to ask questions, but she knew that the Raven mainly talked in riddles.  
  
“Well,” Sam said, breaking the silence, “that certainly seems cheerful at least.”  
  
“I’m ready to return to my chamber, Maester Tarly. Please take me there, but I would like to wake up and be present at the wedding tomorrow if it’s not too much trouble.”  
  
“Certainly. But I’m not a Maester yet.”  
  
“You will be a Maester,” said Bran. “So you already are.”  
  
“As you say,” Sam said agreeable as always. “Gilly!” he called across the hall, “Meet me back in our chambers!”

With Bran’s exit, the feast began to break apart. Jon and Dany saw Bran out and any knights and wildlings who weren’t too drunk to seek their beds also began to filter out, leaving only a handful in the hall and only Sansa and Sandor at the high table.  
  
Sansa had experienced several betrothals and two wedding nights, but she had never before experienced the weightless, nervous anticipation that she was feeling as everyone began to leave the hall, and she realized that soon she would be alone, at long last, with the man she loved. Wordlessly, and without looking back towards him, Sansa took Sandor’s hand and led him down from the dais and over to Jaime, Brienne and Tyrion.  
  
“Lady Brienne, Lord Jaime, Lord Tyrion, I just wanted to make sure that you have everything you need,” Sansa said.  
  
“Yes, thank you, Lady Sansa,” Tyrion said, using the formal title in hopes of reassuring Clegane that he made no claim to his former wife.  
  
We’ll be saying goodnight, then,” Sansa said.  
  
“ _We_ , is it? Good for you, Clegane,” Tyrion said.  
  
“I’m just guarding her. There’s no need for the japes,” Sandor said.  
  
“Yes, he’ll be guarding me from inside my room tonight,” Sansa said, smiling. “Since Lady Brienne is occupied, I can’t be too careful, can I?”  
  
With that, Sansa pulled a blushing Sandor behind her, and Tyrion laughed to see the formerly fearsome Hound following along behind almost like a child.

 

Sansa held Sandor’s big calloused hand in hers all the way back to her room. Along the way they passed many couples in the hallways, kissing and groping passionately. Cries and moans emanated from many of the rooms along the way. The air felt alive with lust, like a cloudy sky pregnant with rain. It made Sansa nervous even as it excited her. She was experienced only in enduring pain, not in giving or experiencing pleasure. What did she actually know about matters of love?  
  
Sandor was equally excited and nervous. Clearly his little bird had decided to take him to bed. But how could she help but be disappointed? He was not the romantic knight she had dreamt of. He could defend her with a sword, but he had no gift for speaking words of love, and though he had lain with women, he had never stayed with any one woman for very long, and he wasn’t sure if he’d given them real pleasure or if they’d merely feigned it in exchange for money. Wasn’t he just setting himself up for a fall, allowing himself to dream of Sansa Stark?  
  
Sansa opened the door to her chamber and began to lead Sandor in, but instead of following her, he let go of her hand and held back, remaining just outside her room.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Sansa asked, looking up at him, a sinking feeling in her chest.  
  
“You don’t want me, little bird. You only think you do. I’ll stay out here and guard your nest. I’ll always protect you. But don’t pretend I’m anything more than a protector. You’ll only hurt us both.”  
  
Sansa felt suddenly in danger of breaking down in tears. Since Sandor had danced with her she had allowed her hopes to steadily rise. Would they be dashed here at her doorway?  
  
“No, Sandor,” she said, using a steely voice of command. “You promised to guard me. So come into my room and check for intruders. I order it.”  
  
Sandor sensed a trap in this, but he had promised to guard her, and she was the Lady of Winterfell. If he wanted to serve her, he supposed he’d have to follow her orders.  
  
“Check the whole room, please,” Sansa said. Her tone was cold and disinterested as she turned her back on him and walked over to her wash basin behind a screen. Sandor sighed. He’d won. So why did it feel like he’d lost?  
  
The room was large and dark, the fire burning in the hearth was low at this time of night. Sandor dutifully checked each nook and cranny and behind the curtains until he was sure the room was safe. When he turned around to take his leave, however, he was surprised. Somehow Sansa had managed to noiselessly remove most of her clothes, and was standing in front of him in only her shift, her breasts and hips outlined clearly as she stood shivering in front of her bed.  
  
“Come here, Sandor,” she said, her voice warm again. “Now you must tuck me into bed.”  
  
“Tuck you into bed? Does Lady Brienne do that, girl?” he asked, trying to look at his hands instead of her milky skin in the firelight.  
  
“I’m no girl,” she said. “Not anymore. Come closer and you’ll see.”  
  
“You don’t want this,” Sandor said. “There are better men. I’ll go now,” he said, willing himself to turn towards the door.  
  
In response, Sansa looked him straight in the eyes and pulled her shift up and over her head. She stood naked before him, trembling, her breasts pale and full, her hips flaring, the hair between her legs the same tempting red as the hair on her head. Sandor wanted to moan out her name. He nearly did. _It’s for her own good_ , he thought, turning to leave. But then she stepped one step towards him and spoke again, her voice soft and slightly afraid.  
  
“Sandor,” she said. “I know I’m not your little bird anymore. I know I’m not a maid. I wish you could be the first man to touch me. I wish that I had never known pain. But I have. Sandor, please stay and touch me. Please. I want your hands on me. I want you to touch every part of my body and make all of those places yours. I want every part of my body to only remember the way _you_ touch me. Do you understand, Sandor? Please don’t make me beg.”  
  
She looked at him pleadingly, then looked down at her hands, clasped in front of her naked belly. Sandor knew that if he didn’t walk over to her at that very moment, something would break between them, and something would break in her. There was only one choice.  
  
“Sansa,” he said, in a low growl. He closed the distance between them and lifted her into his arms, his rough hands cradling the underside of her thighs, her back, and her side. He knew now that he couldn’t leave. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever. If he were ever going to leave her, she would have to cast him out. And it would be worth any pain to never have to hear her beg again.  
  
He looked down into her face, her eyes trusting and liquid, and bent to kiss her. She met his mouth eagerly, and the kiss deepened quickly as they found a rhythm, both of them urgent with desire. There was another feeling mixed in with the desire, a feeling of homecoming he had not known since he was a very small child, and Sandor drank it in greedily.  
  
He took her to the bed, placed her underneath the furs, then stood to remove his own clothes. Sansa watched him eagerly as he stripped off layers of leather and wool, her eyes taking in his well-muscled chest and back. When he moved to take off his breeches she began to blush, and she found her mind wandering to the first moment she had seen him and the huge impression he had made on her, the shiver that had run up her spine. At the time she had thought the feeling was revulsion. But now she realized that it had been her first brush with desire. A desire she’d been too young to understand, for someone too unexpected to anticipate. It was only over time that she had begun to realize the shape of her feelings for this man. Sansa was jolted out of her memories by the reality of Sandor’s naked body.  
  
Sansa had never known that a man’s member could be so thick or long, and she gaped at him until she heard him laugh at her obvious fascination. She’d felt bold all evening, bold enough to drag him to her room, bold enough to bare herself for him, but now she felt as shy as she had as a girl of twelve.  
  
Fortunately, as soon as he’d stripped off his clothes, Sandor joined her under the furs and soon all shyness was forgotten in his embrace. He lay on his side and drew her to him, kissing her again. He ran his hands along her sides, then began stroking her breasts and running his thumb across her nipples, all his reservations seemingly forgotten. Sansa moved in closer, melding her body to his and sharing in his heat. She felt his cock against her abdomen then, and her insides caught fire. “Sandor,” she moaned.  
  
Sandor’s head was spinning. He felt drunk, though he’d barely drank at the feast. How could he possibly be living in this dream? She was the most beautiful woman in the world, always had been. Now she was going to be his? Without even a marriage? Sandor pulled away abruptly.  
  
“What’s wrong now?” Sansa said, clearly panicked.  
  
“This isn’t right, little bird,” Sandor said.  
  
Sansa grabbed his face. She couldn’t let him go. She twined her legs around his back and pulled him to her. He grunted, feeling her cunt pressed snug against his cock. A few movements and he could be sheathed within her.  
  
“There is nothing more right than you and me,” she said.  
  
He smiled and held her close to him. “Aye, little bird. Though I still think you’re half-mad for thinking so. But we aren’t wed.”  
  
Sansa smiled then laughed with relief. “Is that all?” she asked. “Why don’t you ask me then?”  
  
“You’re the lady of Winterfell,” Sandor said. “You’ll rule the North. You’d marry _me_?” Sandor asked. She didn’t say anything, just looked at him expectantly. This was it. There was no other moment in his life that would be more important. Here was where he’d ruin it, no doubt, with some stupid clumsy remark. But the world instead went strangely quiet.  
  
He stroked her beautiful red hair back from her face, while holding her close. He looked into the deep blue pools of her eyes. Words came to him without thought. “Sansa of House Stark,” he said. “Will you marry me tomorrow and be my lady wife for all of my days?”  
  
_It was perfect_ , Sansa thought. Somehow her Hound, her gruff, taciturn Hound was proposing to her like a prince from the songs. She smiled bright enough to light the room.  
  
“Yes, Sandor. I will marry you tomorrow and be your lady wife for all the days to come.” She gently stroked the burnt half of his face and cried tears of joy.  
  
Sandor kissed her then. He didn’t want her to see the tears forming in his own eyes. He was going to have a wife, a life, if they both managed to stay alive in the coming dark days. He’d be buggered if he was going to let some white walker take this away from him, though. He would cut through the Night King himself if it meant coming home to her hot body twined around him, or her sweet smile by the fire.  
  
Sansa broke their kiss long enough to speak. “We will marry tomorrow, then,” Sansa said, stroking his face some more, looking into his eyes. Her heart felt full, but her body was demanding more, and she couldn’t help squirming against him. “Sandor, since we will marry tomorrow, could you please bed me now?” she asked.  
  
Sandor laughed. He couldn’t refuse her anything, not that it was anything he really wanted to refuse.  
  
“If my little bird desires it” Sandor said. “But you need to be prepared first.”  
  
“Prepared?” Sansa asked.  
  
“I don’t intend to give you pain. From now on you will only know pleasure in a marriage bed.” With that, he wet two of his fingers in his mouth, and brought them down between her legs.  
  
“Ohhhhh!” Sansa cried out as Sandor ran his fingers lightly over her lower lips.  
  
“I like that song, little bird. I’ll make you sing more of it.”  
  
He kept up the light stroking, then as she began to squirm under him, dipped down into her folds where she was already wet. After covering his fingers in her wetness, he stroked up, finding her nub and lightly circling it. Sansa moaned louder.  
  
“What are you doing?” she asked.  
  
“You mean you’ve never found this, little bird?”  
  
Sansa had felt similar things before, rubbing herself against the bed on particularly lonely nights in the Vale, but she’d never touched this exact spot with her fingers, and Ramsay, thank the gods, had never been there either. Sandor’s hands were the first to show this to her, the first to explore her here.  
  
“What, what is it?” Sansa asked.  
  
“It’s the spot that makes all women sing if you touch it right.”  
  
He continued to rub it and circle it with his fingers and Sansa began to press herself closer to his hand as she moaned.  
  
“Sandor,” she said. “I love you...” It just slipped out. It was true, but she hadn’t meant to say it. She didn’t want to scare him. She didn’t want him to stop.  
  
Sandor groaned into her neck and murmured, “I love you, too, girl. I always have.” She sighed under his words, but he gave her no time to rest. He worked her spot faster now with a firmer touch, and it wasn’t long before she felt her cunt exploding and coming apart, heat shooting through her body. She melted deeper into Sandor’s embrace and felt a wet gush between her legs. She let out a cry.  
  
“I love you, I love you, love you,” she murmured into Sandor’s shoulder. There was no way she could stay quiet anymore; there was nowhere to hide and no reason to.  
  
Sandor couldn’t say it again just yet, though he felt it. He kissed her instead, trying to put all of his feelings into the kiss. He stroked her back. He stroked her hair.  
  
Then when the tremors from Sansa’s orgasm began to subside, she reached a hand down to explore his cock. Sandor’s body jolted alive. “What are you doing?” he asked.  
  
“Preparing _you_ ,” she said. “Don’t you like it?”  
  
“I like it, little bird, but I’ve been prepared for hours.”  
  
“Can I touch you? Am I doing it right?” she asked.  
  
“Here,” he said, adjusting her grip slightly. “And you can grip harder.”  
  
Her hand could barely reach all the way around him. As she stroked she tried to imagine how he was going to fit inside her. The imagining itself, though, seemed to be making her feel looser and wetter. She stroked him up and down, feeling the heat of his cock, the strange velvety softness of his skin there surprising her.  
  
Sandor watched her as she worked, her dainty hands and then her lustful face. When she saw him looking at her, though, she blushed and became a maid again.  
  
“You can still say no,” he said.  
  
“Promise me,” she said, “That once you’re actually inside me you’ll never ever say I can change my mind again. Because I wouldn’t want to be fucking you and have you say that to me.”  
  
Sandor gulped at her use of the word “fuck.”  
  
“I promise,” he said.  
  
“Good,” she said. “Then I think it’s about time you started fucking me. Because we’re getting married tomorrow and I never want to hear my husband suggest again that we shouldn’t be together.”  
  
With that Sansa opened her legs, gripped Sandor’s cock and coaxed him towards her until she felt the tip of him at her entrance.  
  
“Hold on, little bird,” he said, pushing his cock slowly inside. “This may hurt a little.”

As soon as he began to slowly thrust in and out of her, Sansa lost all reserve and wrapped her legs around him. The soft flesh of her thighs against his sides and back almost finished Sandor immediately, as did the throbbing of her walls against his cock. He was drowning in her physically and emotionally. He slowed down and calmed himself by looking into her eyes.  
  
Sansa looked back up at him and felt no fear or shyness anymore. The pressure of him inside her didn’t hurt, it only made her want more of him. She clutched at him tightly and ran her nails up and down his back, then stroked his hair that was falling into her face. She raised up her mouth for another kiss, and as their lips devoured each other again, their bodies kept a slow, steady rhythm on their own. She felt his cock drag out of her then push in to the hilt, over and over again, and her limbs began to feel lax as pressure built in her cunt.  
  
He was holding himself slightly above her so as not to crush her, but as they sped up their pace, he pressed against her tightly and she felt more of the weight of him against her. Sansa felt a primitive pride in his strength, his size. She angled herself up to better meet his thrusts. And as she felt one of his large hands closing around her hip, her release suddenly came flashing through her in tremor after tremor. Sandor groaned but continued to thrust into her through her climax until he finished too, and Sansa felt the warm gush of his release deep inside her. Silently, and in spite of all common sense, Sansa wished for a child, as he lay down next to her, spent.

Both Sandor and Sansa lay quiet and semi-conscious for a few minutes, lit only by a glimmer of firelight. Sansa finally opened her eyes and rolled over to look at her soon to be husband. She didn’t feel shy exposing her breasts and belly to him, but she caught a shyness in his glance and smiled. She kissed his chest, once, twice, then kissed his lips briefly before questioning him.  
  
“Why didn’t you come to me right away when you arrived at Winterfell?” she asked.  
  
“I came to you,” he said.  
  
“No,” Sansa said. “You said ‘Hello Lady Stark’ and then you disappeared with Arya and gods knows who else for days while I wondered if you even remembered me. You didn’t even call me ‘Little Bird.’”  
  
“I thought your memories of me might be bad ones,” Sandor said brushing Sansa’s hair back from her face.  
  
“The only bad memory I have of you is letting you leave without me,” Sansa said, and she bent down to kiss him deeply again. Sandor returned the kiss, caressing her breasts and waist, his cock stirring again already at her nearness.  
  
“I should have carried you off,” he said. “But who knows if you would have liked it then.”  
  
“I would have liked it,” Sansa said, laughing, imagining a younger Sansa pretending to be shocked by Sandor’s kidnapping, insulting him maybe, as they were thrown together in inns and barns and gods knows where, until they would have eventually ended up in bed together anyway, just as they were now.  
  
“I’m sorry I didn’t then,” Sandor said, running a hand down her ass and gripping her close.  
  
Sansa climbed onto Sandor's lap and writhed against him, her mouth eagerly pressed against his.  
  
All that wasted time. If only she’d left with him the night of the Blackwater. They could have been man and wife ages ago. Of course who knows where that path would have led. Perhaps she had endured all the suffering she had for some greater purpose. Perhaps she needed to become the Lady of Winterfell and win the loyalty of the Vale in order to bring together the people gathered under this roof tonight beneath the banner of her brother and the Dragon Queen. She would never know. But right now, pressed against Sandor Clegane’s glorious naked muscled body, she was at least getting a reward at long last, for all that she had suffered. She met his eyes again, full of need, vulnerable like a boy’s, then ran her hand down his body until she found his cock and began to stroke Sandor back into condition. The long night wouldn’t be so bad if she could spend it with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always shipped SanSan, but the more I got into writing and reading SanSan the more I've shipped SanSan, until, at this point, they hold an almost equal place in my heart with Jaime/Brienne, which is tough, because I have far less certainty that the show is going to reward that ship, even though I think there is ample evidence from the books that it's a canon ship. I love the dynamic and potential between the two of them, though. I don't care if wounded man/healing woman is a cliche. It's a cliche I appreciate, and often in life we are healing each other. It's something that romantic love can do especially well.
> 
> When I was writing this chapter I also thought of the Kate Bush song, "Hounds of Love." I'll reproduce the lyrics in part here, but I recommend listening to it. Of course, in my mind, and in this fic, Sandor is the one running. My head canon Sansa knows what she wants, and she'll do what she has to do to get it!
> 
> When I was a child:  
> Running in the night,  
> Afraid of what might be  
> Hiding in the dark,  
> Hiding in the street,  
> And of what was following me...  
> Now hounds of love are hunting.  
> I've always been a coward,  
> And I don't know what's good for me.  
> Here I go!  
> It's coming for me through the trees.  
> Help me, someone!  
> Help me, please!  
> Take my shoes off,  
> And throw them in the lake,  
> And I'll be  
> Two steps on the water.  
> I found a fox  
> Caught by dogs.  
> He let me take him in my hands.  
> His little heart,  
> It beats so fast,  
> And I'm ashamed of running away  
> From nothing real--  
> I just can't deal with this,  
> But I'm still afraid to be there,  
> Among your hounds of love,  
> And feel your arms surround me.  
> I've always been a coward,  
> And never…


	10. Unexpected Guests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I can't remember where the hell Ghost is supposed to be at the moment. I think the show just didn't want to use the CGI budget on him. But in this fic, Ghost has been chilling at Winterfell this whole time and plays a vital role in castle security.

Meera Reed was not easily shocked after the journey she’d taken beyond the wall with Bran, Jojen, Hodor and Summer. Even so, her jaw almost dropped at the scene that greeted her; her father, Howland Reed; and the crannogmen outside the gates of Winterfell.

Though it was the Hour of the Eel, Northern peasants and drunken knights mingled with Dothraki and Wildlings in a raucous tableau of drinking, dancing, fighting, and, much to Howland’s embarrassment, open coupling. 

“Cover your eyes, Meera,” Howland said, moving to shield his daughter.

“It’s alright, father. I’ve seen worse,” she said, looking up at him gravely. 

As Howland adjusted to the scene before him, his shock was replaced with consternation that no one was questioning the arrival of his several hundred fighting men and women into the camp. 

“Why aren’t they stopping us?” he asked Meera.

Before she could form an answer, a large white direwolf burst through the crowds and jumped up to greet Meera, resting its paws on her shoulders.

“Ghost!” Meera shouted happily. “It’s okay!” she called out to her father’s men, who had quickly approached with spears and nets.

“Here’s the guard, father,” she said, ruffling Ghost’s fur. She knew the direwolf from her brief time at Winterfell after delivering Bran, and she sensed that somehow Summer lived on in him too, giving her an extra feeling of kinship with the large animal.

After licking Meera across the face, Ghost approached Howland and sniffed his hand. Satisfied, Ghost began to lead Howland, Meera and the crannogmen through the bustling Dothraki camp, then on into the inner circle of the quieter Unsullied camp. The Unsullied had mainly gone to bed, but the few who remained awake nodded at the crannogmen silently when they saw that Ghost was leading them. 

As they neared the castle gate the moon broke through the clouds long enough to reveal the most impressive feature of the new Winterfell. Accompanied by a thunderous noise, a pair of wings cast a shadow on the snow, as a large black dragon circled low over the encampments before returning to the castle. 

The Unsullied seemed totally unconcerned. Meera gasped, Howland clutched his daughter close, and various shouts of fear went up among the crannogmen. They had known to expect dragons, but they had still not been prepared. Ghost sat patiently waiting for the humans to calm down.

When the beating of giant wings had faded, Howland looked up at the towers of Winterfell and saw that there were actually two dragons guarding the castle. 

“So it’s all true…” Howland murmured. “Ned, if you could only see...” 

Ghost looked up at Meera, waiting for permission to continue. Meera looked around at the crannogmen, a tough people, who had already recovered from their temporary shock, and nodded at Ghost. He padded forward, and Meera followed, ready to see what else awaited them in this transformed Winterfell.

 

Podrick was freezing, but that was nothing new. He never complained, and he often took the night guard duty. Though he had become a figure of some respect due to his part in rescuing Sansa Stark, Podrick was still a squire, and he was determined to show his worth in every way possible. 

Of course guarding the castle wall had become less necessary since the Dothraki and Unsullied had erected camps outside the walls, and the Wildlings had helped populate the winter town, but Podrick still took the work seriously and was one of the few guardsmen with enough knowledge of all the different factions at Winterfell to easily pick out friends from strangers. 

By the time of Podrick’s shift on the feast night, comings and goings were few. Most people had already chosen a resting place for the night, but a few serving wenches and household knights were still straggling back home, sated from a wild night with the Dothraki. 

Around the Hour of the Eel, though, Podrick spotted Ghost, running along the castle walls, then bursting into the thick of the encampments as if he had a destination in mind. Podrick followed the direwolf’s path until he lost sight of him, then kept his eye on the point where he’d lost him waiting for a possible return. 

Within about 10 minutes Podrick’s patience was rewarded and he spotted Ghost again, this time at the head of what looked to be a column of men. Based on their discipline in the midst of the night’s festivities, they had to be new arrivals.

Podrick called down to the guards on the gates and asked to change places. Since Ghost was with the new arrivals, they were clearly friends, and Podrick would be better able to help them find what they needed.

Down at the gate, Podrick was finally able to identify the new arrivals by their banner - a black lizard lion on a green field - House Reed. Podrick smiled in recognition. He remembered Meera Reed’s brief visit to Winterfell. Though he hadn’t been introduced to her, he had seen her at meals and heard secondhand accounts of how she had braved the lands beyond the Wall and brought Bran back home in face of great dangers. He’d also heard that her brother had died on the journey.

At the time Podrick had longed to meet her and hear her stories firsthand, but he’d thought it best not to bother her. Then she had left as suddenly as she’d arrived. To see her returned at the head of a small army made Podrick happy for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. Maybe it was just nice to see a girl who had seemed so sad and alone surrounded by her people again.

During his time with Tyrion, Podrick had also learned that the Reeds were important bannermen in the North, and Howland Reed an especially good friend to Ned Stark. Podrick, therefore, walked out to meet the Reeds, carrying himself with as much dignity as possible.

“Welcome to Winterfell,” Podrick said as they walked up to the gate.

“You must be Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch, and I know that you’re Lady Meera Reed. I saw you arrive with Brandon Stark.”

“That’s right,” Meera said, looking at Podrick searchingly. “I’m sorry, though, I don’t remember you.”

“Podrick Payne, my lady. Squire to Lady Brienne of Tarth and former squire to Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen.” 

Podrick felt somewhat awkward listing his positions, but Lady Sansa had encouraged him to introduce himself that way to lords and ladies, in order to inspire the respect that was due to a guardian of Winterfell.

“The Queen, is it?” Howland Reed asked. “Well, we’re here to serve the King in the North in the war against the dead, but we have no quarrel with the Queen if she has none with us.”

“I’m sure you’ll be welcomed my lord. I’m afraid Queen Daenerys, King Jon and the Lady of Winterfell are all abed now, but I can get you settled in the castle,” Podrick said, signalling the other guards to open the gates. 

“I’m surprised anyone can rest with this noise,” Howland said. “Is this a normal night at Winterfell these days?” 

“No, my lord. It was a feast night, declared by the Three-Eyed Raven, Brandon Stark,” Podrick said, as they entered the castle courtyard. Before the gates were closed, Ghost took his leave, disappearing back into the night to hunt.

“Yes, Meera tells me Brandon Stark has become this... Raven, no longer himself. It’s a pity.”  
  
“The Three-Eyed Raven, though, has been valuable to us in the war against the dead. He sees things. We rely on his council,” Podrick said. “I’m sorry, though,” he said, looking at Meera. “I know he was your friend.”

“Yes,” Meera said, sadly, then seemed to collect herself. “My brother, Jojen, though, he always knew. He knew what our journey North would mean. What we would lose. Yet he did it anyway. He knew there was a greater purpose. Now we’re here to help fulfill it.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, my lady, my lord,” Podrick said.

“Thank you, young man. We’ve all lost people. We’ll lose more I expect,” Howland said, sighing deeply. 

“Are your men hungry, my Lord?” Podrick asked.

“Yes, and thirsty, and wanting beds. There are women too, amongst our party.”

“For now I’ll take you to the great hall. There should still be some food left over from the feast. I’ll make sure that you get some. Your people can bunk in there for now or in the library.”

Podrick led the large party to the Great Hall, and found a few servants still awake in the kitchen to serve food, wine and ale. When everyone was settled he scanned the room, only realizing he’d been looking for Meera Reed when he didn’t find her. With no other reason to stay, Podrick left the hall to return to his duty.

To his surprise, when he returned to his post on the castle walls, Meera Reed was there, staring out at the camps and the darkness beyond.

“Hello again,” Podrick said, “what are you doing here?”

“Trying to make sense of it all. With everything I’ve seen, this is still nearly unbelievable,” Meera said. “Dothraki, wildlings, unsullied, Northmen. All of us gathered here at the end of the world.”

“What have you seen?” Podrick said, unable to help himself.

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you,” Meera said.

“There are two dragons just over there behind us; I’d believe you,” Podrick said.

“Bran is the three-eyed raven,” Meera began, “but I met the old three-eyed raven. He was no longer even really a man. He was encased in a weirwood tree; he had become part of the tree. Bran will become that someday, too, if we all survive. I saw the children of the forest. They’re real. They fight using some kind of magic we don’t have. Before all of that, we were led to the three-eyed raven by a dead man riding an elk. We called him Coldhands. I’m not sure what became of him. And I’ve seen and fought the white walkers. There were so many of them. I was nearly killed. Bran too,” Meera said. Podrick thought she looked very tired and very far away. 

“You’re a brave woman,” Podrick said. "It must have been so hard.”

Meera nodded, then seemed to stop brooding on the past. “You serve Brienne of Tarth, you say,” Meera said.

“Yes,” Podrick said, proudly.

“So you believe that women can be warriors,” Meera said.

“I _know_ they can be. Lady Brienne is one of the greatest knights in Westeros, even though she is not yet knighted. And she is the most honorable person I know, man or woman.” 

Meera smiled. “It’s a rare man who respects a woman so much,” Meera said. “At least it’s rare outside of a few of our Northern houses. The crannogmen support female fighters and the people of Bear Island do too, but we’re from hard places where everyone needs to be able to defend themselves.”

“I’m from the South, but I think the Northern ways are better,” Podrick said. “These days at Winterfell, all the women and girls are training at arms.”

“Good,” Meera said. “We will all need to fight for our lives before this is over,” she said.

“Are you afraid of the white walkers?” Podrick asked.

“Yes,” Meera said. “But not because I fear death. I’m afraid… Sometime I wake up haunted by dreams of seeing Jojen or Hodor again, only this time with those lifeless blue eyes. I dream I have to kill them, though they are already dead.”

Podrick placed a tentative hand on Meera’s shoulder to comfort her. 

“I hope you will never have to face that day,” Podrick said.

“Thank you,” Meera said. “If I have to kill them, though, I’ll be ready.”

Podrick admired the calm determination in her eyes. He had seen the same look in Brienne’s eyes, and in Sansa’s.

“Are you cold, my lady? Would you like me to find you a bed for the night?”

“I suppose I should rest,” she said. She followed Podrick back into the castle. “And what about you? When will you sleep?” Meera asked.

“I will keep watch until the dawn, then my lady will be married to Ser Jaime Lannister in the morning.”

“ _The Kingslayer_?” Meera asked with surprise.

“Yes, err… we don’t call him that anymore. He left his sister in the South, and now he fights for the North and Queen Daenerys. And he saved my lady Brienne more than once.” 

“And I thought the dragons were surprising. We live in strange times, Podrick Payne.” 

“You can call me Podrick or Pod,” he said, leading Meera to the library. 

Meera noticed for the first time that Podrick did not seem much like a squire, but more like a knight. He was tall and somewhat muscular. He had a pleasing face and a comforting mature presence. 

They arrived at the library, and Podrick poked his head in first, checking for any lingering couples. Finding it all clear, he led Meera to a comfortable corner by the fire. 

“Wait here for a moment,” Podrick said, leaving Meera to go in search of bedding. After several minutes he came back and found her gazing into the flames. She looked up at him gratefully and yawned and stretched.

“Here, my lady. I hope you rest well. I will tell your father where you are and alert the Starks to your presence as soon as they wake.”

“Thank you, Podrick. I’ll look for you at tomorrow’s dinner. I’m sure you have stories worth telling of your own. I’d like to hear them.” 

Podrick blushed and bowed slightly, then left Meera to her rest. Meera watched him leave and realized that no young man had ever treated her with quite so much care, courtesy and respect. Meera drifted off to sleep, and for the first time in months pleasant thoughts replaced her usual visions of white walkers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as you may have divined, I couldn't leave poor Podrick Payne without a love interest. Though book Pod is too young for romance, show Pod clearly is ready for love. Meera is a character who's been sadly underutilized in the show and is also a bad-ass. Since Pod has such respect for Brienne, I like the idea of him wanting to be with a similar type of strong, capable woman. I also want Howland Reed and the crannogmen to be part of the battle.
> 
> Next chapter all your favorite ships will return to greet the morning! I hope you're looking forward to the morning after the feast as much as I am!


End file.
